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#hob: i know :D i love him!
moderndaypandora · 1 year
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The LAYERS needed in a modern/human Dreamling au.  Some level of Endless family dysfunction, obviously.  Hob's family can be be dead or not, it's all good. Are they old enough to have individually gained the awareness they are off-puttingly intense and should hide it a bit at first, or still in that "no, why would I need to Elsa this" stage?
Option A is both of them trying to play it cool, like "don't scare him off" except they so badly want to go from zero to sixty.
(Death and Desire have ruthlessly drilled Dream with flashcards about how to react appropriately in situations.
Desire: it's your one-month anniversary, what do you do?
Dream: [hesitantly] NOT propose?
Desire and Death, conferring, because that's technically correct but the delivery was suspect.
Death, encouragingly: Good start. And?

Dream: a nice dinner and maybe a walk?
Desire: well done!
Death: and for a three-month anniversary?

Dream: give them a key to my flat.
Desire: [airhorn] NO. RED CARD.)
Option B makes them the classic anecdotal "my grandparents got engaged within seven days of meeting each other and still are happy together".
(Death, rubbing her temples: so you met this guy--
Dream: Hob
Death: -- Hob, and within 1 day you gave notice to the Registrar's Office and figured out the best day to get married. And Hob agreed to this?
Dream: NO.
Death: oh thank go-
Dream: Hob SUGGESTED this.
Death: . . .
Dream: are you going to be a witness or not?
Death, 29 days later in the Registrar's Office, to Hob's witness: Is he sane?
Johanna Constantine, drinking heavily from a large flask: unfortunately yes, by all legal definitions.
Death: fuck
Johanna: [passing the flask over] if your brother's even a tenth as intense as Hob, they'll be fine. Probably.
Death, brightening: Is Hob that bad?

Johanna: You know how sometimes you meet somebody and think "oof, they're a bit much, best give them a wide berth"?

Death: yeah.
Johanna: Hob's like a camouflaged hole in the ground of muchness. Except he's done the hole up all nice and he knows that sometimes you just want to be left alone in the hole to sulk and rattle the spikes for a bit, and occasionally get a F&M hamper tossed in.
Death: [hmmmmmmm'ing approvingly]
Johanna, morose: the bastard.
In the background, Hob and Dream are pressing their foreheads together and basking in each other's presence)
#dreamling#the sandman#it's underappreciated how many red flags hob probably is buried under his amiable exterior#he looked at dream of the endless and went 'yeah'#not even as a 'i can make him better'#very much as a 'i can vibe with his current state and frankly even if he was worse i'd still be like that's my husband [shrug emoji]'#'what am i supposed to do? i knew who he was when i married him'#everybody around them: [extremely done with their shit] STOP ENABLING HIM#hob: he's my goth sweetheart#dream's entire family: he's ten sulking cats in eyeliner and a dramatic coat#hob: i know :D i love him!#johanna constantine is like 'hob's insane'#and everybody's going 'oh no don't be so mean he's just a little boring next to dream'#johanna: he saw dream being dream and went 'i need to stamp my name on him. how do i permanently tie us together'#johanna: he'd never safety pin a condom but i can just see the gears turning in hob's head about how to get to spend more time with dream#johanna: just radiating smug contentment over his insane wet cat#hob: i cannot wait to spend the next 60 years with that man#hob: and ideally die in our sleep together still holding hands#death and johanna: [staring at him over their fourth round of drinks]#dream: [heart of eyes and pink of cheeks]#dream: we should never not be holding hands#hob: okay but what if occasionally we stop holding hands just to then appreciate the feeling of starting to hold hands again#dream: [mulling] acceptable#death and johanna could probably start an entire benefriends or actual romantic relationship entirely based on judging dreamling
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softest-punk · 12 days
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Loving the vamp/pet AU...it's giving me too many thoughts
Vamp lord Dream would be the sort to hide away up in his castle until Hob drags him down to the town for a night of drinking and merriment. Hob is very confused when he wakes up alone, only to find Dream at the schoolhouse begrudgingly reading a pile of books to the children after having been cornered by one and being berated until he did all the voices. Suddenly storytime with Dream becomes a more regular occurrence to the point where the school teacher (I'm imagining gault) actively has to start shooing him out of her classroom.
Also (because I am always the sort to make Hob and Jo old friends regardless of the AU) world renowned vampire hunter Johanna Constantine showing up to 'save' her friend who went missing, and upon finding him in Dream's bed willingly thinks Hob's enthralled or something. That is until she watched Hob play with one of Dream's many raven familiars while Dream watches with Heart Eyes™ and is like "Oh no, they're both insane" though she gives Dream the shovel talk anyway before leaving.
Okay so I did have ✨a vision✨ very much like that first scenario so I have written it down and am going to share it here :D
---
Hob’s primary motivation in getting Dream to agree to come down to the pub with him had been, secretly, that he’d wanted Dream to see how universally respected and adored he is. How people knew it was him who made sure their homes were warm in the winter, that they all had enough food in their bellies, that the sick were tended to and the children well-educated and the young men looking for apprenticeships got them, even if they had to leave his slice of London for it, and that the ones who wanted to go to university went with his blessing and his help, and the elderly weren’t forgotten, and so on. That they all knew he took care of them, and they were grateful, and loved him.
He’s glad Dream had agreed, because he’s spent the whole night looking shocked by people thanking him, and smiling at him, and greeting him warmly. Hob had been fairly sure he thought most of them were afraid of him. But they weren’t. Not really. They were scared of giving their tithe because it was medical and a little painful and no matter how comfortable and calm and clean the surroundings were, it still made them nervous. Dream had always been a good master, and they all knew it.
Hob sips his pint as Dream, a touch stunned, talks amicably with yet another of his people. The thing is, Hob’s noticed, that he does know the details of their lives. He’s asked after babies, and older children, parents, suitors, and business interests, one after another without needing to be reminded about any of it.
He cares. He cares so much.
Hob loves him. He’s probably staring moonstruck at him between sips of his pint for all the pub to see. He doesn’t care. They all know, obviously, and anyone who approaches Dream gives him a kind look and a pat on the arm as they leave.
“Mr. Gadling?” a voice asks at his elbow.
“Sally!” Hob turns to beam at the little girl—ten years old next week—who’d been one of his first friends here.
He’d come as a bookseller, picking himself up after a disastrous fall from grace, and Sally loved books. She hadn’t been at all wary of him for being a stranger, and they’d bonded quickly.
A gaggle of other children, mostly younger, begin to gather around Hob’s side of the table, all their dear little faces familiar. His little informal book club, who had their own corner in the back of the shop to huddle together over stories they read to each other. Or, when the shop was quiet, that Hob read to them.
“Hello, my darlings. How’ve you been keeping?”
“We miss you,” Alice complains, swinging from Sally’s skirt.
“Is that really Mr. Dream?” Johnny, always the brave one, asks.
Hob glances over at Dream, who turns out to be watching the children as though he’s never seen one.
“That’s him,” Hob says, beaming. “Told you he wasn’t scary.”
“Are you married to him?” another voice pipes up.
“Can he turn into a bat?”
“Does he suck the blood through his fangs?”
“How old is he?”
Hob laughs, and laughs, gesturing for a break in the stream of questions.
“Don’t you think some of those are very personal questions?” he chides lightly. So lightly it seems to have no effect at all.
“I do not mind answering them,” Dream says. “In reverse order: I am three hundred and seventy-four years old, I am obliged to swallow the blood like any of you would swallow food or drink, I cannot become a bat myself, but I have a coven sister who can become a whole swarm of them.”
“And are we married?” Hob asks, delighting in watching Dream talk to the children with all the patience in the world.
“I have braided the golden thread of your soul into the tattered remains of mine,” Dream says. “And hold the bond I share with you more dearly than anything else I have to my name. I would relinquish every penny I have, every ounce of power and every square inch of territory if you asked it of me and be content as long as I could keep your company. But we are not married, no. We could be, if that would please you.”
Hob opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, makes a sound that had probably once aspired to be a coherent sentence, and then closes it again with a click.
Dream’s brows furrow. Like he didn’t even hear himself speak.
“Will you read to us?” a tiny voice breaks the silence. Hob laughs as a worn copy of Gulliver’s Travels is passed to Sally to be offered to him. Kids have no use for the dramatic, sweeping love of a particularly sentimental vampire. Adventure stories, however, are worth having.
Hob looks at the book, and then across the table to Dream, a plan forming in his mind.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Hob says, nodding across the table to Dream. “He reads to me, sometimes. He’s really good at it.”
There’s a brief pause, a chittering conference, and then a chorus of please that would put the angels themselves to shame.
Dream looks between Hob, and the children.
“You did just promise me anything if it’d make me happy,” Hob points out. This is really for Dream, but he’s not good at taking things for himself. If Hob wants it, though, that’s a different matter.
Five minutes later, Dream’s ensconced in an armchair by the fire, where there’s enough room to move the armchairs and a rug for the children to sit at his feet on. A couple of brave ones sit on the arms of the chair, and one—George, an absolutely fearless three-year-old—sets himself confidently in Dream’s lap.
The look of wonder on Dream’s face makes Hob’s heart swell behind his ribs. He’s always beautiful, of course, but especially so now. Absolutely glowing. Surrounded by enrapt children and more than a few curious adults.
“My father,” Dream begins, low and soothing as ever. “Had a small estate in Nottinghamshire; I was the third of five sons.”
Whenever Hob read to these particular children, they interrupted him regularly with questions and comments. He’d never minded, it’d all been part of the fun.
They don’t interrupt Dream. They sit there enrapt, like Hob does, hypnotised by the low soothing cadence of Dream’s voice. In the beginning, he’d struggled a little to adapt to a more nocturnal lifestyle, and Dream had talked him to sleep of a morning until he’d started getting sleepy naturally then.
More than one of the youngest kids drops off, leaning on their neighbours.
It’s only when the clock strikes ten that Hob realises he’s been listening to Dream read for well over an hour. Nearly two.
Hob’s sudden start makes Dream pause and look at him, uncertain, book dangling from his hand as he surveys his audience, half of it asleep now and the other half getting there.
“Oh,” he says.
“That might be enough for one night?” Hob suggests, giving some of the older children a nudge.
It’s only then he realises that the whole pub had been under the same spell, when everyone comes back to themself at once. Hob realises, belatedly, that Dream’s voice isn’t just soothing because it’s low and quiet. It gets inside him. He knows that. He loves it.
It’s magic. Of course it is. Vampire magic.
Harmless, though. He wouldn’t have done it to the children if it wasn’t harmless.
Their parents begin to collect them, most of them being told to thank Dream for reading to them, which evidently surprises him. By the end of it, though, he’s glowing with happiness. Not everyone would be able to tell, but Hob can. Hob knows him, and the way he nearly wriggles with contentment when he feels loved and wanted. He can see it now, the restless itch of pleasure.
He’s beautiful all the time, but never more so than when he’s happy.
“Was my performance adequate?” Dream asks as Hob perches on the arm of his chair in the nearly empty pub.
“You’ll get requests all the time now,” Hob says with a grin. “Don’t be surprised if you find them all at the door first thing in the evening.”
Dream scoffs, and takes Hob home.
The next evening, when there’s a knock on the door, Hob smiles.
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helloalycia · 3 months
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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐃
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summary: after you hear about Lucy Gray's breakup, you wonder if you'll finally have a chance with her. Of course, your father, the head peacekeeper, can never know you like the 'troublemaker' from the Covey.
warning/s: none i don't think?
author's note: okay so after a million years i finally got this one written, an idea that came to me like a week ago and took forever to write because life lol. I hope you all like it anyway, it’s a three parter and was fun to write :)
something to note - Y/BF/N = your best friend's name and Y/D/N = your dad's name
two / three / masterlist / wattpad
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"...and I told him that he shouldn't say stuff he doesn't mean, especially when it's just plain old rude, but of course he didn't care..."
I hummed, nodding along as my best friend, Y/BF/N, rambled about an encounter she'd had with one of her neighbours, but I was also glancing around the hallway casually. It was the end of the school day and I was waiting for Y/BF/N to collect her books from her locker so we could go, but she easily got distracted.
Apparently so did I though, as my eyes fell upon Lucy Gray Baird, a talented musician and outsider in my grade, part of a group called the Covey that everyone either tended to avoid or fell in love with for their musical charm. I always found her fascinating, beautiful, as many others did, but she had a boyfriend which pretty much meant there was no chance there. Still, it didn't hurt to admire her.
She was talking to another member of the Covey, Tam Amber, when she accidentally walked into none other than the mayor's daughter, Mayfair Lipp. It wouldn't have mattered so much if there wasn't a clear tension between both girls.
"If only you could open your eyes like you open your damn mouth," Mayfair snapped at her, making passers-by glance their way, listening in.
"Was an accident," was all Lucy Gray said, and she didn't seem very apologetic.
Mayfair scoffed. "'Course it was. A lot of things with you seem to be, don't they?"
Lucy Gray rolled her eyes as Tam Amber tugged her away, the two girls going their separate ways. Y/BF/N, who had stopped talking to observe the argument with everyone else, tried to stifle her laughter.
"Wow, their hatred for each other does not seem to be going away, does it?" she commented to me.
"Do you know why they don't like each other?" I asked, curious.
Y/BF/N shrugged, closing her locker. "Mayfair's jealous, I think. Dunno why, since she's literally the mayor's daughter and the Covey are just a bunch of weirdos singing for their supper."
"They aren't weird," I corrected her as we walked outside. "They're talented. A little different, is all."
"Same thing," Y/BF/N mumbled. "Don't go saying that to your dad. You know how he feels about them."
I tried not to laugh. "He feels like that about anything fun."
Y/BF/N cracked a smile, before chuckling. "Very true."
My father was the head peacekeeper of our district, a very strict man who was a little too overprotective for my liking. Don't get me wrong, I was grateful for the hard work he put in which meant I could live in the nice part of town and never struggle to have a meal on the table. That was something not everyone in District 12 could count on. But it also meant he hated anything that wasn't to his standard.
He had high hopes for me, hoping I'd land a rare but possible job in the Justice Building when I finished school. It wasn't too far fetched considering I was a straight A student. But he also thought I was a goody two shoes who followed the rules – oh, how that couldn't have been far from the truth. If he ever found out how I snuck out at night to visit the Hob and flirt with most of his unit, I was certain he'd have a heart attack.
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Being the head peacekeeper's daughter meant that it was out of my hands when he had to attend something important and I, too, had to be present. For example, today was Mayfair's birthday and the mayor had thrown a formal affair in her honour, of which my family had been invited to.
I tolerated Mayfair, but despite our similar stance in society, we didn't share anything else in common. She was too snarky and easily irritated and always killed the mood, so I remained polite with her and that was it. Her party was as boring as she was, full of the mayor's friends, the odd Capitol resident from her dad's circle, and their kids whom I wasn't sure Mayfair even spoke to. If she had any real friends, they weren't here.
Her home was pretty big, for a District 12 house anyway, which made sense since the mayor was the richest in the district, though poor by any other Panem standard. I kept to myself during her celebrations, occasionally chatting with my mum and her friends or picking at the snacks table. That was until a special performance, dedicated solely to Mayfair from her father himself, was announced. An amused grin fell on my lips when I saw who it was.
The Covey.
"Ladies an' gentlemen, how are we feelin' this afternoon?!" Lucy Gray said into her mic at the front of the space cleared in the huge dining room.
Everybody began to clap as I saw the mayor tugging his daughter to the left of the makeshift stage. To say she was angry was an understatement. But if Lucy Gray had any qualms with the arrangement, she didn't let it show.
"This one's for the birthday girl," Lucy Gray continued, smiling widely at the glaring girl in question. "Happy birthday, dear Mayfair."
After the count of three, the Covey were plucking their strings, banging their drums and joining together in a melodious rendition of 'Happy Birthday', and I tried very hard not to laugh as Mayfair was forced to endure it all. To be fair, the Covey were great, and when they performed several songs after that, half the party were cheering them on, either drunk or genuinely amazed by their talent.
Once they'd finished performing for a moment and took a break, Mayfair stormed off with her father in tow, who was attempting not to draw attention to the mishap with his party guests. Again, I couldn't help but stifle my laughter at the turn of events.
Lucy Gray caught my eyes again though, as she was approaching the snacks table I was sat at the edge of, in search of something.
"You guys performed great out there," I said to her when she was close enough, and she glanced up at me, before recognition flashed across her face and she began to smile.
"Why thank you."
"Bet you loved the gig," I said lightheartedly, and it took her a moment to realise what I was implying when she began to laugh.
"It wasn't ideal," she said in a low yet amused voice, "but a job's a job. And technically Mayfair's daddy hired us, not her."
I chuckled to myself. "Hey, it was pretty funny to witness. I'm not complaining."
She shot me a disapproving look as she tossed a grape into her mouth, but a playful smile was breaking out on her lips.
"I didn't know you and Mayfair were so close," she said with intrigue, flipping the conversation to me.
"We're not," I corrected. "Kind of a package deal when my dad's invited to these things. But your performance certainly made this whole thing worth it."
She began to smile, cheeks turning pink slightly. "You've seen our performances enough times now. You ain't sick of me yet?"
I gasped sarcastically. "Lucy Gray, I could never be sick of you. What nonsense are you talkin' about?"
Her smile widened with amusement, before her eyes flickered behind me. "Your daddy's coming. I should go. Wouldn't want him to find out about your sneakin' out and blame it on me."
"As far as he knows, you're a stranger," I played along with a teasing wink, before straightening up and turning around to face my dad.
I heard Lucy Gray walking away behind me just in time for my dad to smile down at me.
"Y/N, how are you enjoying the party?" he asked.
I smiled innocently. "It's great, dad, thanks for bringing me."
He nodded. "Good, I'm glad."
I glanced over my shoulder as he began to talk about what the mayor was saying to him earlier, searching for the Covey girl. Then I spotted her, talking to her family across the room and also shooting me a glance, her cheeky smile on her lips, mirroring mine.
A little flirting didn't hurt anybody, right?
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With my father's job came many responsibilities that meant he had a lot of late nights at their base camp, including the weekend when I sneaked out the house to meet Y/BF/N at the Hob and have some fun. It was difficult at first, making sure I timed it right so my mum would be asleep when I left and also generally sneaking downstairs and out the back door. But the more I did it, the easier it became, and soon enough it was second nature.
By the time I reached the Hob tonight, everything was in full swing. The Covey were performing as usual and everybody was up and dancing. I found Y/BF/N at a table, flirting with some boys from our grade. It didn't take long for me to join them, and between the two of us, we landed free drinks just because we played our cards right.
It was so freeing at the Hob, not having to worry about my dad breathing down my neck or about being such a goody two shoes in his eyes. No, here I could do whatever I wanted. The night was always young and nobody could stop me from having fun.
I found myself dancing around with a peacekeeper, Terrence, who had finished his shift for the day and always happened to be around when I did. He'd been flirting for a while and it was easy to play along, have a little fun.
"It's too bad I can't be lookin' for a wife," he said with a boyish grin as he spun me around. "You'd be my first choice."
I tried not to laugh as I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Yeah, that's too bad for you."
"Your dad would kill me if he knew what I was doing," he said, leaning in close for a kiss.
But I tilted his head and pressed one to his cheek instead, before saying in his ear, "Good thing he won't ever find out, right?"
He snorted. "Right."
I smiled contently, before letting him spin me around some more. It was always so easy to do what I wanted here without the fear of it getting back to my father because either everyone was scared of him and what power he held, or they knew it was my word against theirs and my father would never believe them. Besides, I was doing no harm. Some people just wanted a dance and a little flirting, which was exactly what I gave them. What was the big deal?
After finishing my dance with Terrence, I joined Y/BF/N's side again, grabbing her hands and pulling her onto the dancefloor for one final dance for the evening. She laughed, letting me, and we began to chat as we swung about gently.
"How was your dance with Terrence?" she asked with amusement. "You still leadin' the poor boy on?"
"It's not leading him on if he knows it's just a dance," I reminded her. "Besides, it can never happen. He's in my dad's unit. And I don't even like him like that."
"You just flirt with him for fun," she said sarcastically, but I grinned anyway.
"Duh."
Laughing again, she let me spin her around, and then my eyes found sight of Lucy Gray beside the stage. She was talking to her boyfriend, Billy Taupe, the two of them looking awfully cosy with one another. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, knowing it was just an irrational jealousy, nothing more. I'd never even hinted that I'd liked her, and she'd been taken for a while now, but it was easy to wonder what if.
"You're staring," Y/BF/N noticed, before following my gaze. "Ooh, Y/N, you've gotta let that one go. She's trouble, I heard."
"I didn't even say anything," I defended myself.
"You don't need to," she said knowingly. "Your face says it all. And I'm warning you now. It's not worth it."
I rolled my eyes lightheartedly. "Yeah, yeah, just keep dancing, idiot."
She stifled a chuckle and we got back to it, but not without me stealing one last lingering glance at Lucy Gray.
Of course, after that evening, news of her and Billy Taupe travelled all around school. Rumour had it that he'd cheated on her with Mayfair and, as a result, they'd broken up. Of course it was horrible to hear, but admittedly, the first thing I wondered was did I finally have a chance?
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Almost two weeks after hearing the news of Lucy Gray's breakup, I was at the Hob again. I'd been watching the Covey perform all evening, though this time without Billy Taupe who was permanently out of the band it seemed. I'd been waiting for Lucy Gray to be free so I could attempt to make a move.
And after what felt like forever, she finally took to the bar to have some water, and I sucked up a breath before approaching her with a skip in my step.
"Lucy Gray," I started with a smile, earning her attention. "You okay?"
She took a sip before nodding at me. "Yeah, just havin' a break."
"Just a break from singing, right?" I asked, making her quirk a brow. I continued, "Because I'd love to ask you to dance."
A smile grew on her lips, matching the sparkle in her eyes. "I've seen you around, Y/L/N. You probably ask everyone that, don't you?"
I resisted the urge to laugh. "Without sounding big headed, they ask me. So, no, not everyone. Just you. I'd like to dance with you, if you'll have me."
She pursed her lips, eyes flickering between mine considerately and in a way that purposely left me waiting, hoping she'd say yes. Finally, she sighed lightheartedly. "Well, I suppose if you'd like it, who am I to decline?"
My smile widened as I put out my hand and she gladly accepted. The rest of the Covey were playing a song slow enough to have us swaying to the melody, joining the other dancers on the floor.
"You're pretty good at this," Lucy Gray mumbled with amusement, hands wrapped around my shoulders and her head looking over it so I couldn't see her expression.
"Can't be stepping on your toes now, can I?" I said quietly, as to not interrupt the momentary peace that had washed over the Hob. "What sort of impression would that make?"
She snickered. "And why would you be tryin' to make any impression, darlin'? It's just a dance, ain't it?"
A smile crept on my lips. "That it is. But you never know."
She pulled back for a moment, honey-coloured eyes glancing between mine as if trying to decipher my words. I thought I was pretty straightforward, but she clearly didn't agree. Finally, her smile mirrored mine and she leaned her head on my shoulder as we swayed to the song.
It was only a few minutes long, of which, despite my apparent calmness, I was a little nervous to be dancing with such a beautiful girl. I hoped she couldn't feel my heart racing between us. It certainly didn't help when she began to hum lowly, clearly knowing the words to Maude Ivory's ballad, and the deep reverberation of her humming echoed in my ear.
When the song came to an end, everybody parted and applauded the band for their song. Meanwhile, Lucy Gray pulled apart, hands moving from my shoulders and to my hands, squeezing them gently.
"Thanks for the dance," I said to her with a suppressed smile.
"Thanks for askin'," she replied.
My smile was permanently fixed on my face as I watched her walk away, back to the stage for her next number. It wasn't until Y/BF/N appeared out of nowhere, patting me on the back, that I was pulled from my Lucy Gray-induced stupor.
"Someone's crushing," she teased, and I simply ignored her as I glanced back at the brunette onstage.
I was lucky she was giving me a chance at all.
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After that initial dance, it became almost tradition to dance with her every time I could, and she always accepted, for some reason giving me the time of day. Visiting the Hob had a new, exciting meaning now, and not just to have some fun fooling around.
Getting to know her more, hearing her talk about her love of performing or something that happened to her that day, meant we were growing closer. Not quite friends, but not anything less either. We'd see each other around school and greet each other, or she'd walk past me in the markets and flash me a smile. Y/BF/N thought I was insane to like her, but I couldn't help it.
A few weeks after that initial dance, she was rambling about some frustrating things before her show, including her shoes not tying quite right, or the step on the stage being a little dodgy and making everyone trip up. One of her complaints was about her red lipstick, which had officially ran out and was her favourite one to wear for performing. Lipstick and makeup in general were rare finds, and she must have searched around a lot to get it, but now she couldn't replace it, not for a while anyway, and it was upsetting her more than she let on.
I couldn't help it, of course. I had to rectify the issue. So, I found a way to trade some meaningless things at the markets in exchange for a red lipstick, one that looked fresh from the Capitol and that I knew Lucy Gray would love. Later that evening, after sneaking out of my house, I headed straight for the garage behind the Hob that the Covey had claimed, where they prepared for their shows.
When I entered, everybody was doing different things, from tuning their instruments to fixing their hair.
"Lucy Gray, Y/N's here!" someone shouted in a teasing voice, and I didn't get chance to see who as Lucy Gray suddenly appeared, stealing my attention.
"Hey, darlin', what're you doing here?" she asked with a bright smile, looking as beautiful as ever.
"Just wanted to wish you luck," I told her, returning her smile. "And of course, bring you a little something."
Her dark brows knitted together above confused eyes, and I took the lipstick from my jacket pocket before holding it out to her.
"You were saying how you felt weird performing without it," I explained as she curiously took it to inspect it, "so I got you another one. Can't have the iconic Lucy Gray without her iconic red lipstick, can we?"
An amazed smile grew on her lips as she looked at the colour, and I couldn't stop looking at her.
"Y/N, this... how did you get this?" she asked with a laugh, meeting my gaze.
I shrugged, and she rolled her eyes before hugging me.
"Thank you so much," she said gratefully, pulling back to grin at me. "I... I don't know what to say."
"You don't need to say anything, just wear it," I said.
She laughed again before going up to the mirror hung on the wall, applying the lipstick as she always did before  every show. And when she turned around, I knew I'd made the right choice. As always, she stole my breath away.
"You look beautiful," I told her truthfully. "But you always do."
The pink tingeing her cheeks was contrasted to the deep red of her lips, but she remained confident as she stepped towards me knowingly.
"There's only one way to truly test it," she said, and I didn't get chance to ask what she meant before she pressed a slow but firm kiss on my cheek.
I was dumbstruck, not expecting that at all, and she pulled back with a satisfied smile. Her hand ghosted my cheek, thumb rubbing gently on the inevitable lipstick stain on my face.
"I'll see you out there," she said, dropping her hand but not her smile. "Thanks again, Y/N."
Still reeling at the sensation of her lips on my cheek, I couldn't find the words to reply. She laughed before returning to the Covey, and somehow I found myself walking to the Hob to sit with Y/BF/N. As soon as she spotted the lipstick on my cheek, the laughing and teasing began, but it didn't mean much when Lucy Gray walked out onstage, her matching red-painted lips curved into a grin.
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It was easy to fall quicker and harder for Lucy Gray after that, so much in fact that the only thing I wanted to do was kiss her for real.
No matter how much time we spent together, the shameless flirting and banter wasn't enough. I didn't want to be platonic, I wanted more, and I was sure she might have wanted it too.
One evening at the Hob, we were both sat at the bar chatting. Well, she was chatting and I was very much distracted by the sharp curve of her jaw and the curly ringlets of hair that kept spilling into her eyes and the way her mouth moved with each word she spoke and–
"You're not listenin', are you?" she asked lightheartedly, humoured smirk on her lips, matching the quirk of her brow.
That seemed to be the final straw for me, and I couldn't help but lean in, kissing her. Only as I did it did I realise the insanity of my actions, the carelessness, and I pulled away just as quickly. Before I could even scold myself for acting so recklessly, endless apologies on the tip of my tongue, something caught my eye from behind her.
My eyes widened when I recognised the person who had just walked into the Hob. It was my father, the head peacekeeper who hated coming in here because he believed it was a distraction and a bad influence. He was here, and he'd just walked in with some of his peacekeeper friends.
And I was sat in here, a little too close to a girl he also deemed a bad influence. Oh, shit.
"My dad," was all I could get out, before I forgot everything that had happened with Lucy Gray and immediately threw myself over the bar, hiding behind it.
"What are you doin'?!" Lucy Gray leaned over, looking down at me with a puzzled expression.
I couldn't have hunkered down anymore if I tried. "Dad. Doorway. Now!" I whisper-shouted, as if he'd suddenly hear me from all the way across the room.
She must have looked and recognised him as her shadow disappeared and she was no longer trying to talk to me. As I formulated a plan to escape, hoping the full house and loud music would be the perfect distraction, I heard a familiar voice nearing.
"Commander Y/L/N!" Lucy Gray exclaimed loudly, and my heart sank at the possibility of getting caught. "Hi!"
He hesitated, before responding, quite literally just above me. "Lucy Gray, right? The Covey. You performed at Mayfair's birthday a couple of months ago."
I could practically picture the grin on her face as she answered enthusiastically, "The one an' only!"
Sounding a little more laid back than usual, he said, "It was an excellent performance."
"Why, thank you, sir," she replied kindly.
It was quiet between them for a moment, as he ordered a drink with the bartender who thankfully seemed to understand why I was hiding right next to his feet, but he mustn't have left afterwards, as Lucy Gray spoke up.
"Oh, they'll bring your drinks to your table, sir."
"It's fine, I'll wait," he said dismissively, and Lucy Gray merely hummed in response, but I didn't hear her leave.
My heart was racing as I didn't dare move a muscle. My father was stood right next to me, only a bar between us, and I was sure he'd kill me if he knew I was here. Why the hell was he even here?! This was so unlike him!
But no, I couldn't think about that right now. I could only focus on leaving before he discovered my presence.
"So, are you performing here?" my dad asked Lucy Gray in an awkward attempt at filling the silence. He was never good at small talk.
"Uh-huh," she responded just as awkwardly, and I appreciated that, despite my previous mistake with her, she was still willing to keep my secret.
"Nice," was all he said. "I look forward to it. The officers say you're really good."
She didn't reply, must have smiled or nodded or something, because the conversation ended and I was back to hearing the blood rushing in my ears.
After what felt like forever, I heard the bartender serve my dad his drink, and then the latter wished Lucy Gray a good evening before leaving. I didn't dare move, not until I was certain, but Lucy Gray banged the top of the bar to get my attention.
"He's on the other side talking to some officers," she assured me.
"I need to leave out the back," I said, not showing my head just yet. "He'll kill me."
"Okay, just wait," she instructed, and I did just that until I realised she had rounded the bar and was holding her hand out to me. "Come on."
Accepting her hand, I let her keep a look out before she dragged me through the back and out the door, away from my father's prying eyes.
A sigh of relief escaped me as I was in the clear, and Lucy Gray was laughing at my expense.
"That was close," she said between laughter, glancing back as the door closed behind us.
Straightening up, I nodded in agreement. "It was. Thanks for the assist."
She settled on an amused smile before her eyes met mine and her expression softened. "You know, you were in the middle of somethin' back there."
And just like that, the mortifying realisation of kissing her returned to memory, and I was instantly about to apologise.
"Yeah, I–"
She cut me off with a kiss, just as abrupt as mine, but unlike me, she didn't pull away, and I was left to melt into her lips, savouring the warmth of her skin pressed to mine. Her hand cupped my cheek, fingertips pressing down gently, and I sighed into her lips as she began to pull away for air.
"That was... unexpected," I muttered, lips still tingling.
She tried not to laugh. "As unexpected as you kissin' me before?"
I exhaled, slightly embarassed, and she licked her lips before taking my hand and squeezing it gently.
"You should probably head home before your daddy finds you out here," she said, a hint of humour in her voice.
"Home, right," I agreed, before meeting her eyes. "I'll see you at school tomorrow?"
She grinned. "See you then."
I smiled softly before kissing her hand and leaving. It was safe to say I couldn't sleep the rest of the night, my only thoughts of the curly-haired Covey girl who'd stolen my heart.
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gabessquishytum · 3 months
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I saw a tiktok that was like "for $100 I'll facetime your family dinner table in scrubs and apologize for not making it to xmas dinner" as a fake-relationship thing and ofc i thought of hob and dream, who's family has been on his case all year to get a nice partner and he came across the offer, not knowing a) hob would be very hot b) that they'd end up texting all day, c) that texting would turn into sexting in the guest bathroom, or d) hob works at the same hospital as death and she recognized him 🫣 oops!
Omggg yes. I really really love Dream getting harrassed by his family over his lack of a relationship!!! Honestly he was PUSHED into faking this thing with Doctor Robert Gadling... he didn't anticipate that he'd enjoy it quite so much.
Dream has deadass never had a medical kink until he saw a picture of Hob in his white coat and scrubs. He's got his hair tied up in a bun, and Dream can't think of anything to say except "wow". Hob takes the flirting very well, luckily, and it makes his boring Christmas a LOT more interesting. When Hob takes a break from work he finds himself in one of the staff bathrooms, sending Dream pictures of the bulge in the front of his scrub trousers.
Death is both delighted and amused to see her colleague on the other side of the facetime, when it eventually happens. She knows that Hob is a slut, bless him. Of course she bursts out laughing and refuses to explain why! She thinks that Hob is perfect for her horny little brother.
If Dream ends up swinging by the hospital to pick Hob up at the end of his shift for a little post-holiday blowjob, well... he's just thanking an essential worker for his services, right? 😏
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freddyfagzbear · 2 years
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Queers find other queers and seeing how in The Sandman, Dream has known A. The Corinthian (has literally only kissed guys onscreen, don't know his sexuality for sure tho) B. Alex Burgess (had a husband) C. Johanna Constantine (has a gf) and D. Desire (nb), it is 100% believable and acceptable for him and Hob Gadling to be in love in this essay I will-
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im-not-corrupted · 2 months
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Because I'm totally normal about your writing (you can hear me hiding a pile of your writing that reaches my head behind my back) can you do 6-Should I write you a poem instead? For the Valentines Game (yes I feel really funny for choosing that)
<333
Mar!! Hi!! :D I hope you enjoy <3
---------
Dream has always enjoyed gift giving.
He has always been the one to gift things to others. To adorn lovers in jewels, to weave tales and compose poems for them. It is no hardship; when he loves, he falls hard and fast, and often to the point of ruin. Before they reach that point, though, he has always found it delightful to gift those who have captured his attentions ways to assure them of his adoration, ways to prove just how significant they are to him.
It has never been any hardship, and Dream thinks it unlikely that it should ever become one. There will never be any greater joy than the chance to see one he loves taken aback by his gifts, than being able to prove his devotion in some real, tangible way.
There is a lot that went into the creation of the gift he wishes for Hob to have. He does not consider a gift until Hob mentioned one of humanity's popular traditions off-handedly—Valentine's Day, he called it, and though he claimed it mattered little to him, he also stated he enjoys the gift-giving aspect of it in the same sentence.
Valentine's Day is not something Dream was familiar with, before he returned to the Dreaming after that particular conversation to conduct some research. He had considered asking Matthew, but then reconsidered. While Matthew was certainly the leading expert in the Dreaming regarding human traditions, he has yet to voice his own feelings for Hob. Has yet to put words to the tangled mess inside his chest, at least not in the Dreaming.
He thinks it is obvious anyway. His realm has embraced spring, flowers blooming through the cracks of his castle, the sky a pleasant blue, the air clear and cool. The Dreaming takes all those feelings and puts them on full display for all his creations to see. It is obvious. He needs not voice such things, not yet.
And he believes Hob knows, too. They have grown steadily closer since Dream's return, thirty-three years late and full of a fierce hope that he wasn't too late. That he hadn't ruined everything by failing so terribly to escape his prison, to make it to their meeting in 1989. Dream has already stated that Hob is important to him, and has made an effort to be more present in his friend's life. Despite the fact that he has not put words for the tangle of feelings inside his chest, he has not made them a secret.
No, Hob must know. He must, surely; there is little chance he does not.
Of course, it is possible Dream has been misunderstood. Hob has been...reciprocative of his attentions, his stares lingering, his touches more purposeful now instead of accidental brushes of their shoulders, but he has not put anything to words either. Still continues to call Dream old friend, an endearment that makes the traitorous thing inside his chest tug almost painfully.
That, he supposes, is the point of his gift. He wants Hob to know just how much he means to him. Wants to put those thoughts to words; to stop dancing around his own feelings. He is sure Hob feels similarly, even if Dream cannot quite understand why; he would not risk ruining their friendship this way otherwise. It means far too much to him for that.
It's late, when he turns up at Hob's door for Valentine's Day. It feels appropriate, knowing the meaning behind this tradition, to give his gift to Hob on this day instead of any other.
As always, he is welcomed inside with that same, lovely smile he has adored the sight of since he was first gifted it the day of his return. It is blinding in its radiance, so lovely, and Dream thinks he understands the meaning of reverence every time he sees it. It is a gift in and of itself, that warmth, that joy at seeing him, and he is selfish enough to hold the memory of it close to his chest, to return to the Waking for the sole purpose of being blessed with it once more.
It has become quite a problem. His mind turns so often to Hob Gadling, to that smile, that he has begun to create dreams of comfort and succour around it. Lucienne's knowing look the last time it happened remains forever ingrained inside his mind, now.
"Wasn't expecting to see you today," Hob tells him, but he sounds pleased about it. Somehow, he always does. Dream remains ever-baffled by that particular fact, but is too selfish to risk giving it up by questioning it. "How're you, love? How's your day been?"
Inside his chest, his heart warms. He has no use for a heart, not really. It does nothing for him. He does not typically have one, either, but there is something about being here, with Hob, that makes him stray a little closer towards humanity. He can feel the warmth of Hob's apartment, the cosiness that leads to a sense of security, greater this way. He does not mind fashioning himself a little more human for the sake of those things, however unconsciously.
"Well," he answers. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. The gift in his pocket seems...heavier, suddenly, or perhaps he is all-too aware of it. "I have a gift. For you."
Eyes widening, Hob blinks at him. "Oh, do you?" he asks, and he already sounds delighted. It soothes some of the nerves that have made themselves known, and Dream sighs softly. "You didn't have to do that, love."
"I wanted to. You mean...much to me, Hob Gadling." It is stilted, that admission, more than he wants it to be.
He is rewarded with a faint flush to Hob's cheeks regardless as he steps closer to Dream, that smile growing wider. "And you mean much to me too, Dream. I have to admit, I'm curious now."
He digs his hand into the pocket of his coat. It is functional only when he wants it to be; he hadn't wanted to lose this gift to the galaxies that line it, not when it is so important.
When he pulls his hand away, he holds out a small, black box and holds it towards Hob. His heart is in his throat now, terrified and nervous. "For you, my friend."
His excitement is palpable when he takes the box from Dream's hand, fingertips brushing his palm for just a moment. When he opens it, his eyes widen further for a moment, until he eventually plucks the ring from the box. "Dream." His voice is choked when he says it. "This is..."
The gold of the ring shines in the low light of Hob's apartment, the ruby shard glinting. "It was made by my own power," he explains. "The jewel is a shard from my own ruby. You can...communicate with me through it, should you wish to." This, Hob has mentioned already—I'd like some way to contact you, if possible, he'd whispered softly, not long after Dream gained the courage to tell the story surrounding his absence in 1989. In case...In case something like that happens again.
It was, in the end, a small request. One he thought he could fulfil easily.
The silence that grows between the two of them now, though, makes him think differently. "Should I have written you a poem instead?" he asks. It is a lot, he supposes, to gift his friend a ring of all things, even if he wishes to be a little bit more with said friend. Perhaps he should've asked Matthew for his opinion after all. "You need not—"
Whatever he was going to finish that sentence with gets quickly cut off when Hob meets his eyes. There's a faint sheen to them, the beginnings of tears, and Dream has only a moment to panic over the sight before his friend slips the ring on his finger. It fits perfectly, just as he planned for it to, and he begins to say as such, but he's interrupted when Hob strides forward, closing the distance between the two of them.
The expression on his face is open, warm. "If I'm mistaken," he whispers softly, "I apologise. Please don't smite me for asking, but—may I kiss you, Dream?"
His heart jumps. "Yes," he breathes. "I would like that."
Lips quirking, Hob says, "Good," before he cups the back of Dream's head, fingers weaving through his hair and gripping lightly, and kisses Dream lightly.
It is tender. Warm and loving. Something snaps inside him instantly, whatever restraint he let hold him back abandoning him as he grasps his friend's waist and pulls him closer, allowing his lips to move against Hob's. It is lovely, everything Dream has imagined it could be.
Eventually, Hob pulls away, resting his forehead against Dream's. "Not mistaken, then," he murmurs between them, chuckling softly. He continues to play with the hair at the back of his head, and Dream shivers.
"Not at all," he says, and kisses Hob once more.
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staroftheendless · 1 year
Text
Fluffbruary 2023 - Day 02 - memory
They're sitting at Hob's kitchen table and Hob tries his best to focus on his tea but he can't help that his eyes wander back to Dream's face over and over again.
Of course, his behavior doesn't go unnoticed and now Dream focuses on him instead of his tea, not subtle about it at all. "What is the matter?"
"I was thinking, recently," Hob says, a little worried that Dream might not like the suggestion, "that we could maybe take a picture?"
"What picture?"
"A photograph. Of us. You know, as a memory. Like the pictures I have on the wall in the living room."
Hob knows he's babbling, but the whole thing matters more to him than he likes to admit and he hopes to convince Dream.
"I'm not sure that would work," Dream says.
"Oh, so you don't show up on film? Can you see something in a mirror?"
A small smile dances around Dreams lips. "How often do I have to tell you that I'm not a vampire?"
"Well, excuse me, Mr. 1689," Hob says in a mocking tone. "And how would I know? You said people perceive you differently. My phone isn't exactly sentient, so what does it see?"
"This matters a lot to you, does it not?"
Hob swallows. "Yes, it does."
"Then we shall try."
After all his precautions, Hob never thought that Dream would agree just like this. Him not knowing if it works means that he never tried to take a picture with anybody else before. Hob could be the first to take a selfie with the Lord of Dreams.
His heart beats faster as he fumbles his phone out of his pocket and Hob moves closer to Dream, holding up the phone after he puts it in selfie-mode. 
"We have to be close enough to fit into the screen," he explains, and his heart almost gives out when Dream moves even closer.
Their shoulders rub together and Dream's face comes so close to Hob that their cheeks almost touch. Hob does his best to smile and Dream at least makes the effort not to look angry.
Hob takes a few pictures just in case and quickly turns his phone around to see the results.
"Sure you're not a vampire?" Hob asks, but his mood drops. All the pictures are fine on his side, but Dream's side is extremely blurry and dark.
"I'm sorry, Hob," Dream says, and he sounds so genuine that Hob takes that as consolation.
"Not your fault," Hob shrugs. "Guess we have to find another way."
-
About three months later, Hob is no longer thinking about a picture. Dream has made it a habit to constantly drop in on Hob. Oftentimes, it's just for a few minutes to ask about his day, but for one week, Dream comes by every single day. It's almost as if he's trying to make up for the lack of a picture by showing Hob his real face.
Today, Hob is sitting at his desk and grading papers when he hears a familiar whooshing sound. He smiles before he even hears the beloved voice.
"Hob?"
"In here," Hob shouts, forcing himself to stay in his chair and not jump up like a happy dog whose owner came home.
Dream enters the room, and to Hob's surprise, he's holding a flat present in his hand that's big enough to hide his whole torso.
"I have something for you," he simply states and Hob rushes over to him after all.
"But what-? Why?"
"You'll see," Dream says, and Hob watches his face light up with something like pride, and a hint of mischief. "I hope you like it."
Hob wishes he could keep his excitement in check, but he's barely holding the present when he already rips through the paper. He finds the back of a simple picture frame, and when he turns it around, his heart almost leaps out of his chest.
It's a painting. It has to be. A painting of him and Dream, but it's so realistic that it's just the way it would have looked if Hob's phone had the ability to capture Dream.
In fact, it's way worse, since they're even closer in the picture and Dream has the softest smile on his face. If Hob wasn't already in love with the one next to him, Hob might fall for painting Dream.
"How did you do that?" he asks, unable to take his eyes away.
"I found an artist who perceived me the way you do and commissioned this from her," Dream explains. "You said we had to find another way, so I did."
Hob takes a deep breath to keep the tears inside. He's so happy he could burst any second. "That's bloody brilliant."
"She gave me something else," Dream says, reaching into his coat pocket. "I didn't ask for this, but she said I should give it to you."
Dream hands Hob two things. A usb drive and small piece of paper.
"There's more?" Hob asks, staring at the drive.
"She did a few sketches of me, because she thought you should have more than one picture."
"Wow," Hob huffs, not quite sure what to say. 
The one picture is already bad enough, how is he supposed to cope with more? With a beating heart, Hob turns the small paper around. It has the size of a passport photo, but it's another incredibly realistic painting of Dream.
"Do you like it?" Dream asks.
Hob can't breathe. He's holding a beautiful, tiny Dream. One that he can put in his pocket and carry around with him. 
All he wanted was one photo, but he got so much more. Without thinking, Hob drops everything. He needs his hands free to cup Dream's face.
"Thank you," Hob whispers, and when he leans in, Dream doesn't move an inch.
After this, they see a lot more of each other. And on the few occasions when Dream isn't there, Hob has a whole collection of pictures to look at and daydream about.
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seiya-starsniper · 9 months
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slow dancing or 5. hand kisses <3
So I’m picking #5, but stayed tuned for #1 👀👀👀 Enjoy the softness my dear 💖💖
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It is the culmination of one thousand years of friendship, love, and joy.
Hob Gadling stands at the end of a long aisle, breath caught in his throat, eyes wide, and heart racing as he watches Dream of the Endless take his first steps towards the rest of their lives. 
“He’s lovely isn’t he?” Death whispers conspiratorially in his ear from his right.
He is. Dream has always been stunningly beautiful, but today he is radiant. He’s dressed in flowing midnight black robes that make his skin shine like moonlight, and Hob realizes with each step the Endless takes that they are covered with stars. In his hands he holds a small golden circlet adorned with a red ruby, his own crown situated atop his unusually neat hair. 
“He does clean up nicely from time to time, I suppose,” Desire remarks to Despair from the other side of Death. Hob stifles a chuckle and tucks the information away to share with his beloved for later. It’s the nicest thing he’s heard Desire say about Dream.
When Dream finally reaches him and hands the circlet to Delirium, he gazes at Hob in wonder, as if he cannot truly believe this is really happening. That Hob is really here, has chosen Dream, not once, but over and over again, over hundreds of years, all culminating up to this very moment. 
To their marriage.
Hob takes Dream’s hands in his, squeezes them tightly, and, because he can, raises them to his lips, brushing soft butterfly kisses against each knuckle. Dream’s breath stutters at the motion, and when Hob meets his gaze, he sees the most lovely rose blush blooming across his beloved’s face. 
“Hi,” Hob greets his future husband. 
“Hello dear heart,” Dream replies, breathless.
The gaze at each other, lost in the moment, before a cleared throat startles them back to the rest of the room.
“If we may begin?” Destiny asks, his book already open.
They both nod, and turn to face the being who will bond them together, mind, body, and blood.
Destiny recites a passage in a tongue that Hob does not know, but he nonetheless understands. The air shimmers around him and Dream, a current of magic enveloping them in a glowing warmth that Hob feels all the way down to his bones. When he breathes, he feels it. The sound of their hearts, beating in sync with one another, an affirmation that no matter where he is, he will feel Dream with him always, just as Dream will always feel him.
The magic’s intensity crests as they recite their vows, promises to remain true, to be faithful, to love into eternity. Hob can feel the pulse of their shared power between them, the weight of Dream’s responsibilities halved as Hob swears to share them as his Consort.
Hob then kneels, head bowed, and Delirium presents the circlet to Dream. Dream takes a deep breath, as if still in disbelief of what is happening, before he places the circlet on Hob’s head, completing the bonding ceremony. When Hob stands, he feels no longer just human, but so much more, and when he meets Dream’s eyes he is struck dumb by how much more beautiful his beloved has become. 
“The marriage is completed,” Destiny announces, closing his book. “Welcome Hob Gadling, new Consort of Dream of the Endless, and regent of the Dreaming realm. ”
The rest of the room erupts in a deafening and uproarious applause, every citizen of the Dreaming in attention standing to cheer their new regent. Some of Hob’s friends are in attendance as well, though they will only remember this ceremony as a dream. They will have a very different ceremony in the Waking, and Hob thinks he must be the luckiest man in the world to be able to marry the love of his life twice.
With the ceremony complete, there’s just one thing left to do. Hob wraps an arm around Dream’s waist and pulls the Endless in for their first kiss as a married couple, the first of many, the first to start a lifetime together.
“I love you,” Hob whispers against Dream’s lips when they pull apart.
“And I, you,” Dream replies, his eyes reflecting supernovas and galaxies that Hob had not been able to perceive before. It feels, he thinks, like falling in love with Dream all over again. He wonders what other new surprises this marriage will have in store for him, already excited at the thought of re-learning Dream anew.
They have forever to find out, after all.
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just-j-really · 2 months
Text
Unsoulmates part four (a new hope)
Masterpost
Hob texts Morpheus two days after he and Audrey break up, because he's got two tickets to a ballet and absolutely no use for them anymore. He'd offered them to Gwen, first, but her girlfriend (her soulmate, actually, her soulmate she'd met at a Ren Faire in a moment out of a fairytale, complete with a kiss-print soulmark on the back of her hand) has even less interest in ballet than Hob does. And he knows bringing it up to any of his other friends will only get him concerned questions about why he keeps doing this to himself, wouldn't he be happier if he stopped actively avoiding his One True Love.
So offering them to Morpheus, who hasn't spoken to him in a month but probably won't do that, is the best option by default.
Shockingly, Morpheus replies. He even offers to meet Hob at the White Horse, a pub they'd frequented back when they were still sort of talking, to pick up the tickets.
Even more shockingly, Morpheus is already at a table when Hob arrives at the pub four nights later, like he's planning to sit and talk with Hob. Like before.
Hob is not entirely sure how he feels about that, but he's also running on maybe three hours of sleep, and the chair next to Morpheus looks extremely inviting, so he lets himself topple into it.
"If you ask me how I'm doing I'm going to get up and leave," he warns Morpheus, leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes. He might just take a nap here. It's been impossible to fall asleep, these past few days, without the warmth of someone else in bed with him. And it's so easy, lying there with the tangible reminder of how alone he is, to let his thoughts spiral into why didn't she stay why didn't she even consider it wasn't it worth it?
But here, with the warmth and the noise of people around him and this unbelievably comfortable armchair, an uneasy half-doze starts to overtake him. He's drifting, wondering where in the world Morpheus found an armchair, when a soft tapping noise drags him back to reality.
When he opens his eyes, Morpheus is sliding a beer across the table to him. He doesn't say anything, just looks at Hob levelly, and Hob thinks that's why, why he opens his mouth to say thanks, what comes out instead is a cracking, "Do you know what it's like, having people congratulate you for having your heart ripped out?"
His voice sounds even worse than he feels.
Morpheus inclines his head at Hob in that familiar little nod; go on, I'm listening.
It's a small kindness, but it still makes Hob feel like his chest is cracking in half.
"Everyone acts like it's fine. Like it's a good thing. 'Yeah it hurts now but at least you'll stop wasting your life, at least now you'll find the person you were meant for.'"
He takes a breath. Takes a drink. "Nevermind that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her."
And then the whole story is spilling out of him, in an out-of-order slurry: the moment it happened- Audrey gesturing wildly as they ducked through the concert crowd, hand in hand; her stunned little gasp as her arm bumped another emphatic gesture-er; they way he'd stood there, confused, still holding Audrey's hand, while she and her soulmate stared longingly into each other's eyes.
The way she'd yes-anded even his stupidest bits, the way they'd had their own shared language of in-jokes, the way conversations with her were a dance and she always knew the next step.
The way, within a week, she'd scrubbed herself out of his life entirely, like she needed to fake her death to start her new life with The One.
"And- and I knew marriage wasn't happening, right?" he finds himself saying, some time and several drinks later. "Fuckin nobody marries their not-soulmate, which is STUPID. It's so stupid, remind me to tell you how stupid it is. But I thought. I thought we- I thought there was something. Something good. I thought maybe we could last."
The sentence gets much too wobbly at the end, and Hob swipes a hand roughly over his eyes.
"What did you want, then?" Morpheus asks.
Hob glares at him.
"If not marriage," Morpheus says, as though clarity were the problem there. He seems... sincere, though. Like he's actually asking the question, not trying to nudge Hob into an epiphany about the futility of his life goals. Hob's heard the second thing enough to know what it sounds like. And Morpheus has that- look, on his face. The Hob-is-an-insect look, but not. It's... it's like if that look were kinder, more genuine. More vulnerable.
So for what may be the first time, when asked that question, Hob actually considers his answer before responding. "I dunno what I wanted," he says. "I just want- I want someone to choose me. Not have me forced on them."
Morpheus stares at him. Studies him. As though the secret of life itself has somehow been hidden in Hob's face.
Hob stares back, pinned. Entranced. A little confused.
"You know," he says, after a moment, "I'm not actually a bug."
Morpheus sighs. "Come on," he says, "Let's get you home."
Despite Hob's insistence that he is fine, really, just a little tipsy and a lot heartsick and sleep deprived, Morpheus does walk him home.
Hob only remembers the tickets when they reach his building, and only then someone had stuck a sticker of a dancer to the back of a lamppost. "Here," he says, rooting around in his jacket pocket until he finds the envelope, and handing it over, "At least someone will get use out of them."
Morpheus stares at the envelope like he's never seen one before.
When he looks up at Hob, his eyes are glistening with tears. "Are you," he asks, quietly. He pauses for a long time, long enough that Hob starts to wonder if he'd handed over the wrong envelope, and then wonder what deeply tragic envelopes he could possibly have been carrying around.
"Are you going to look for your soulmate now?" Morpheus asks. His voice is as even, almost soothing, as ever.
He's looking at Hob as though the wrong answer will be his death sentence.
"Are you kidding me?" Hob asks. Despite everything, he finds himself grinning. "Never. The love of my life is out there, somewhere, I'm not going to discount them for something stupid like soulmates."
Morpheus smiles.
Truly smiles, for the first time that Hob has seen. It's a lovely expression, soft, hesitant, but so genuinely, contagiously delighted. And Hob knows, with the same bone-deep certainty as his disbelief in soulmates, that he'd protect that smile at all costs.
"Also," he says, because there's not much protection he can offer right not but there is always the shining, thrilling possibility of coaxing another smile out of Morpheus tonight, "I'm starving. Do you want to get dinner?"
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cuubism · 1 year
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I don’t even know if you accept writing prompts, but just *Imagine* this
Dream, has no fuckin idea how Hobs immortality works
His sister just said “you could find out” and gave no other word other than the IMPLICATION that hob is immortal, so aside from knowledge that hob has been withheld from her gift, dream doesn’t know how the whole immortality thing works for hob
Meaning the first time Dream sees Hob DIE
I feel like he’s in for a ride
I always pictured Hobs immortality as a Deadpool kinda thing. He does TECHNICALLY die from whatever killed him, but he pops back as soon as his body heals. Not a fun experience, definitely some trauma involved (being drowned as a being that doesn’t die permanently seems ROUGH) but all in all Hob can walk away from everything pretty alright.
Now if Dream DOESN’T KNOW THAT. If he thinks hob is simply un killable, that could lead to a WORLD of delicious Temporary or Presumed death angst.
*looks at the ancient unfilled prompts lingering in my inbox from years ago* of course i take prompts what do you take me for! :D 😂 i love them, i don't always manage to write them
in retrospect 'you could find out' is QUITE mysterious and ominous, thanks Death.
yeah i usually imagine Hob's immortality working like it does in The Old Guard, where he basically does die but he comes back after a few minutes. i'm still undecided on whether he heals faster than normal, like, for plot purposes it's easier if he does, but there's something compelling also in the idea of hob having to struggle through the same long healing process as other people, just with the certainty that he will heal. i also always ask myself, can hob be permanently injured? like, if he lost an arm, would it... grow back? i don't know the answer to that. i like the idea of him being able to have scars for Symbolism, but him not having scars is also compelling, like, having no real record of anything that's happened.
drowning would... suck, especially as it probably took him ages to break free of his restraints so he probably drowned over and over and over...
dream seems to get in the 1789 scene that hob couldn't be killed by being attacked. but i feel like... like Death is not the only powerful force in the universe and she isn't all powerful. i could see dream being worried about hob being like, destroyed in some other way? like his... Being being destroyed? i don't think there's any being or creature in the story's universe that can't be killed in some way, even Dream can be killed - or, I guess, Morpheus can, is more accurate. so the fear could still be there. either way, seeing hob die would still be a hell of a shock, even knowing it's temporary.
i actually wrote something really similar to this in an as-yet-unfinished fic so i think instead of starting another wip (i have soo many ack) i will just share that scene
[ preface - there was a whole Fight and the Corinthian cut Hob across the throat (rip) and then Bounced because Dream was kind of, well, distracted ]
--
When Hob woke, Dream’s hands were around his throat.
Pressing, holding. Trying to keep him together.
And he was… just absolutely drenched in blood. It lay slick on his hands, smeared up his wrists, soaked in blacker patches on his black shirt and coat, he’d even managed to get a few droplets on his face. Dear God. Hob had almost forgotten how much blood could come out of a human body. It had, fortunately, been quite a while since he’d had to watch somebody exsanguinate.
Their gazes met. Hob’s bleary, Dream’s swirling with colliding galaxies.
“See?” said a voice out of Hob’s eyeline. “I told you he’d come back.”
Hob craned his neck carefully to see. A woman was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, apparently unconcerned by the scene of theatrical death and carnage playing out before her.
“Dream,” she repeated, when Dream didn’t move. “I told you. Let the man breathe.”
For all that her words were spoken lightly, there was a note of concern underneath them. Hob didn’t think it was directed at him, though, even if he had been to one to get his artery sliced open. The woman’s gaze kept flickering over to Dream.
“I had to be certain,” Dream ground out. His voice rumbled against Hob’s ruined throat.
“You don’t trust my word?”
“I had to be certain,” he repeated.
Hob wrapped a careful hand around his blood-soaked wrist, squeezing until Dream looked at him again, and rasped, “Hey. Can’t die, remember?”
Then his chest spasmed and he coughed up a truly horrific amount of blood. Dream released him, with some reluctance, allowing him to turn on his side, and Hob coughed until his throat was clear.
“Fuck,” he gasped, and spat one last clot of blood onto the absolutely destroyed living room rug. “Goddamn. That was a new one.”
“See?” said the woman, gesturing at Hob. “He even has a good attitude about it!”
Dream did not seem comforted by this. His hand fell to rest on Hob’s shoulder and gripped tight.
“Oh, I’m Death, by the way,” said the woman, catching Hob staring at her and waving at him. “Hey.”
“Um,” said Hob.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Death hastened to reassure him. “I’m not here for you. Or, I mean, I kind of am, but not to collect your soul, just because my brother here is a worry wart.”
Hob looked back and forth between them. “You… were worried Death would take me… so you… called her here?” he asked Dream incredulously.
Death sighed. “Not always the brightest bulb.”
Dream watched him intensely. “I needed to be sure she would not.”
“Dream, I told you—”
“I had never… seen you die before.” He held Hob’s gaze, but his expression wobbled into something close to fear. “It was… challenging.”
Hob supposed that knowing, abstractly, that your friend couldn’t die didn’t hold much water when seeing your friend die.
“Oh, Dream,” he murmured. Dream only looked more pained when Hob said his name. Hob found his wrist again and squeezed it. “Hey, it’s alright, yeah?”
Dream swallowed, a very human, nervous thing. “Evidently.”
“Come on, let him up,” said Death, and helped Dream haul Hob up to his feet. They dragged him over to the couch, where Hob sat, hand pressed to his still-aching neck. What a strange moment this made, he reflected. Two Endless, one covered in blood, dragging a half-dead human across the living room. Hob was going to have to give up on his life making a lick of sense anymore.
Dream’s fingers flexed, still slick with Hob’s blood. He wavered on his feet, then said, “I should— the blood,” and disappeared in the direction of the washroom at a rapid pace.
“Can’t he just—” Hob waved his hands in a gesture he hoped conveyed change his clothes magically.
“Could,” Death agreed, perching on the arm of the couch. “But he’s feeling an emotion so I think he needs a minute.”
“Ah.” Dream’s stricken expression hovered in Hob’s mind. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like seeing that forced split in his friend’s composure at all.
“You’re good for him, Hob,” continued Death.
“Because… I got my throat cut and kind of almost died and upset him?” Hob said, expecting her to correct him.
“Yup!” Death agreed cheerily. Her eyes lingered on the hallway that led to the washroom. “Among other things.”
As if any of that was reasonable. Hob leaned against the back of the couch, rubbing his eyes. “You all are so cryptic.”
Death laughed, but didn’t elaborate on what she’d said any further.
Hob lingered on it, though. You made him upset. Hob hadn’t seen Dream upset before, not like that.
Did he ever get upset like that? Or, rather, did he let himself?
Hob quickly found himself also watching the hallway for Dream’s return. He half-wondered if he’d just bolted back to the Dreaming, or maybe gone after the Corinthian, if he’d escaped after Hob had… died.
When he didn’t return for several minutes, Death let out a long breath and got up to go after him.
Now alone on the couch, Hob clenched his fingers in the fabric of his pants, gritting his teeth as a shiver of shock ran through him. Sort-of-dying sucked, but often, Hob had found that the aftermath was worse – human bodies were meant to either die or live, not land somewhere in between, and each time he’d recovered from situations he should have died in, he’d faced a sort of belated panic response, fight-or-flight kicking in with no danger present.
He stood jerkily, stumbling to his bedroom, where he stripped off his absolutely ruined shirt – he was going to have to burn that, he’d look like a serial killer throwing it away – and jeans, and scrubbed off the blood as best he could with a spare towel considering Dream was still hogging the washroom.
He’d just gotten on a clean pair of jeans and was reaching for a shirt when the door clicked open. Dream stepped in, so quiet he was less person and more shadow. Gone were his long coat, and his boots. His black skinny jeans and long sleeve shirt were functionally identical to what he’d been wearing before, but Hob had a feeling the actual blood-soaked ones from before had been destroyed – if they’d ever existed outside of dreams in the first place.
He stepped quietly, barefoot, over to Hob, and Hob looked up and down at this change in attire. “Planning to stay awhile, love?” he asked, a weak attempt at levity.
Dream stopped before him. His eyes were deep and very dark. “You are shaking.”
Hob chuckled self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, turns out that sort-of-almost-dying is a bit of a shock to the system. It’ll pass, though.”
“It will pass,” Dream echoed, expression unreadable.
“Has before,” Hob said, tension prickling up his spine at the utter stillness of him now. And not the relaxed stillness that Hob had become accustomed to when they sat and drank together at the inn. No, this was the stillness of water about to overflow. Surface tension.
“Before,” Dream repeated, again.
Hob smiled weakly at him. “Promise.”
Dream’s night sky gaze flicked over his face. His shoulders were even narrower without his coat, and the lack of structured fabric made him look softer, human, normal.
But Hob’s friend, his love, his stranger had never felt less normal. He moved in like the approach of nighttime, hovering clouds and darkness and rain, a blanket pulled over one’s head that might cocoon or suffocate.
Hob would have accepted either.
Dream caught him by the jaw with fingers soft as lamplight, murmured, “Promise,” and kissed him.
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valiantstarlights · 9 months
Text
[Personal Trainer!Dream AU] Chapter 2: (Much Ado About) Gym Clothes
Chapter 1: First Meeting
This is still for @sadrumihours , who shared Tom Sturridge's highly educational 😏 training videos (part one & part two), as well as everyone who yelled in the comments and reblog tags. I see you all and I love each and every one of you. 🖤
Disclaimer: These are once again just vibes because I still don't know a single thing about gym stuff. Will someone please tell me what the equipment Tom is using called? Because I'm still calling it stretchy jump rope machine in my head. 😭
CW (and summary): Dream being his usual thirsty-for-Hob self, Hob being insecure about his body, and Johanna trying to be a supportive sister to Hob. (Keyword being: 'trying.') This chapter contains spicy spice! Enjoy? 😏
Mojo Jojo
Jo, what do I wear to the gym???
uh, gym clothes?
(You sent a photo.)
Is this okay??
i guess?
why are you being weird?
you're just going to the gym, not going on a date
WAIT, ARE YOU???
HOBERT
answer me or i'm gonna come over and steal all your teeth
I bought pizza since I know you're coming over from your shoot anyway
fine
you can keep both your secrets and your teeth for one more day
--
"That's it, Professor," Mr. Endless--Dream, says next to his ear, low and inviting. His hands are cool as they caress Hob's overheated and very sensitive inner thighs, and his eyes, so dark and so close to Hob's own, are laser-focused on his panting, straining face. "One more. Just one more for me."
Hob's cheeks are already streaked with tears. How many hours has it been? How much more until they're done? Until he's told that he's been good? "Mr. Endless, please--"
Dream has moved to inspect his position. He adjusts Hob's legs so they spread even wider. The change in angle makes him sob, but Dream shushes him and he leans all the way down to lick at his rim.
Hob wails, body jolting against the restraints. His muscles are already so sore, but he wants to be good.
"You can do it, Professor," Dream says, lightly tapping at his taint to encourage his muscles to clench. "This is the last one."
Hob cries and wiggles, breathes slowly and purposefully like how he has been taught, and forcibly relaxes his muscles one by one, until finally, finally, he manages to push out the last large anal egg from his body with a soft moan.
It plops wetly onto Dream's waiting hand, and the man hums approvingly as Hob's hole gapes for a second before winking closed again.
"Very good," Dream purrs against his rim and dips his tongue into Hob's loosened hole. Hob keens and thrashes against his bonds again. It was so humiliating, but he loves every second of it. He can feel his body slowly becoming stronger, and he owes it all to Dream.
"You see what you can do?" Dream asks, now inserting his long, clever fingers inside him. "What your body can achieve with my guidance?" He moves his fingers in and out slowly, the squelch of the remaining lube loud in the room. "I'm so proud of you, Professor. Only a few sessions in and you're already my beautiful, obedient little slut." He emphasizes his words by drilling his fingers unerringly against Hob's prostate. Hob cries and bucks up, helpless and overwhelmed, unable to do anything else with how good he had been tied up.
"Please, Mr. Endless--"
"Mr. Endless?" Dream repeats. "You have to be specific, Professor Gadling. Are you calling for my brother?"
Hob shakes his head wildly. "No. No, please. I mean you. Just you, sir, no one else. You know that."
Dream rewards him with a soft kiss against the head of his cock. "And what's my name, Professor?" he asks. "What's the name that you'll be screaming in ecstasy for the rest of your life?"
"D-Dream," Hob gasps. "Dream--"
"Good boy," Dream says, and returns to his hole to suck hickeys around the rim. Hob hopes he bruises well. He hopes he'll feel all the love bites Dream gives him every time he sits down. "Shall I give you your reward now?"
Hob remembers last time, when his reward was Dream spanking his hole directly until it was red and puffy, and then fucking him that way, all the while praising him for being so virgin tight.
"Yes, please," Hob says, voice cracking a little. He wants to move. He wants to wrap his arms around Dream and kiss him softly while they fuck. He wants to be called sweet and good and mine.
But in the end, Dream is still his trainer, and he knows Hob's body best. He knows Hob's body better than Hob himself, now. And if he tells Hob he has to wear a vibrating plug while he uses the stationary bike, then he will.
He'll cry and stumble and cum in his underwear countless times, and Dream will coo and kiss his tears away, but he'll do it. Has done it. It had increased his stamina exponentially.
"Very well," Dream says. He leans over Hob so they could share a kiss while he lines his cock up against Hob's waiting hole. "You have been so good for me today, and I think that means you deserve a treat, yes?"
Hob nods, biting his lip at the incredible pressure as the head of Dream's large cock pushes against his rim--
--
Hob's alarm blares at max volume, and he jolts awake, blindly reaching for his phone to turn it off.
It takes him a few seconds, and once that's done, he's awake enough to notice the sticky feeling in his underwear. He moves the covers aside and peeks inside his boxers.
...Great. Not only did he have an incredibly realistic wet dream (ha) starring his personal trainer, but he's also currently sporting a semi.
Thank goodness he set his alarm hours before he has to go to the gym. He still has time to do some...preliminary stretching.
He blushes as he grabs his favorite dildo, which he had placed conveniently beside his pillow last night, as well as the bottle of lube beside it.
He's already ashamed of himself for thinking about Mr. Endless in such a manner, but try as he might, he can't conjure up the image of another person. Not since he met him.
Oh, he tried thinking about previous people he had a crush on, real and fictional, as well as local and international celebrities: actors and idols and athletes--to no avail. They always turn into Dream Endless in the end, looking down at him as they fuck in a variety of positions, usually missionary because Hob is a dumb romantic at heart, his gorgeous blue eyes loving and captivated, his lips forming 'Professor Gadling' or 'Hob' over and over again, his voice soft with awe and reverence.
It never fails to bring Hob to completion faster than he ever had before, when he had yet to be blessed about the knowledge of Dream Endless's existence. It was mortifying. His imagined scenarios always leave him whining and pressing his face against his pillow so he doesn't scream Mr. Endless's name out loud for the entire neighborhood to hear.
He knows it's pathetic, because it's not like Mr. Endless is going to look at him that way in real life. But if he's sad about it, crying a little like a lovesick fool after he cums, then that's his business and no one ever needs to know.
--
Boss Dream's newest trainee walks in the gym dressed in a thick hoodie and joggers, and Matthew starts sweating bullets just by looking at him. Is he going snowboarding with Boss Dream or something?
Nope. None of his business. Better just focus on getting the damn blender working.
--
"Good morning, Mr. Endless!" Professor Gadling says cheerfully as he rounds the corner to where Dream is waiting. "I hope it's alright that I'm a bit early today. I had to make up for last time."
He's an entire 15 minutes early, but Dream won't say no to spending more time with him. He had been reviewing today's agenda, but had turned around as soon as he heard Professor Gadling's voice. And he was just about to greet him back, when his eyes lift from the clipboard he's holding, and the smile falters in his face as he takes in what the man is wearing.
Dream had indicated in his email that they were going to do some mandatory stretches, and after that proceed to doing a full-body pre-test workout that would measure the professor's strength, endurance level, general dexterity, etc. It was important that they do this on the first session so that Dream could come up with a program specifically tailored for him and his end goal.
It was his mistake in assuming that Professor Gadling would do the sensible thing and wear something light. Not winter clothes in the middle of summer.
"Good morning, Professor Gadling," he says, as neutrally as he can manage. "You are dressed quite warmly."
Professor Gadling grimaces. "Oh. Well um, I'm afraid I don't really have gym clothes, and I haven't had the chance to buy some yet since, you know, school. And everything else I own are dress shirts and slacks and lounge wear. But don't worry! I'll go shopping this weekend." He pauses and smiles bashfully. It was just as devastating as Dream remembered. "Sorry. I'm talking too much again."
Meanwhile, Dream's mind had latched on to the words 'lounge wear,' and he imagines Professor Gadling casually walking around his house in nothing but short pajama bottoms.
"I see," he says, glad that he took the time this morning to get himself off so he won't be as tempted to push Professor Gadling against the nearest surface and really give him a full body workout. "Then please, if at any point you wish to take off a layer, feel free to do so."
"Oh, no," Professor Gadling says, still cheerfully. "I'm fine like this. Shall we begin?"
There's still a few minutes before they officially have to start, but Professor Gadling seems to want to begin immediately, so Dream nods and instructs him to stand with his feet shoulder width apart, and gets him to start stretching his upper body.
Professor Gadling obeys, following Dream's example as he demonstrates the set, counting to eight, then back to one again under his breath, before doing the next set without complaint.
Dream watches him closely, because he has to. It's why he notices that the professor's thick hoodie barely shifts, even as the man raises his hands upwards towards the ceiling and counts to 16.
A dark thought crosses Dream's mind then, that perhaps the reason Professor Gadling is wearing clothes that cover his entire body is because he's currently covered in love bites.
Dream clenches his teeth but breathes through it. He knows he's being possessive when he has no right to be, and that Professor Gadling has every right to sleep with whoever he wants.
But knowing these facts and acknowledging them to be logical and true does not stop Dream from hating whoever it was that is currently enjoying Professor Gadling's gorgeous body in bed, perhaps repeatedly throughout the night.
He wants to be that person. He will be that person. He is already fated to be that person.
If his brother Destiny is right about one thing, Dream fucking hopes that it's the power of manifestation, because he doesn't think he would just allow Professor Gadling to end up with someone else without challenging that person to a fight.
--
Mr. Endless is wearing a tight, sleeveless black shirt and slightly baggy joggers, and Hob is losing his mind. Has lost his mind as soon as he spotted the man a couple of minutes ago, standing by the large glass windows and reading something on his clipboard.
The sight of his toned arms are bad for Hob's concentration. And it's even worse when he circles Hob like a very observant vulture to check his position (just like in his dream) and bids him to raise his arms higher, or at one point, bend a little more to the right.
Hob can't bend as much as he used to in his twenties, but he is very determined to be super flexible at the end of this.
For health reasons, of course.
Mr. Endless demonstrates another pose to stretch the arm muscles, and in doing so calls Hob's attention to how his muscles bunch and flex. Hob is sure that they're far stronger than they look, and he has no doubt that Mr. Endless can carry heavy grocery bags without breaking a sweat.
Hob gets so far as picturing Mr. Endless's hands squeezing his thighs before he immediately shuts the thought down.
No. Absolutely not. And his previous thought about being flexible, too. Mr. Endless would be horrified, if not outright disgusted if he finds out that Hob is thinking about him in that manner.
--
Professor Gadling continues to obediently follow his orders, getting on the treadmill, walking, jogging, then running, complying as soon as Dream warns him about changing the treadmill's speed, and he does so without a single word of complaint.
Dream could not help but compare him to his past trainees, all of whom had complained on their first session about wanting to go straight to the workouts that would help them achieve their ideal body shape. But not Professor Gadling. He would listen and watch Dream's demonstration well, then immediately obey his orders or mimick his movements. Dream has to bite his tongue multiple times so he wouldn't slip up and say, 'good boy.'
Or worse, 'my good boy.'
Death is going to have Destruction break his spine if, out of all siblings, a sexual harassment complaint would be filed against him and not, say, Desire, who regularly flirts with their own trainees.
Cardio pre-test finished, Dream leads Professor Gadling to the weightlifting area, and once there, bids him to take 2 dumbbells that weighs 1 kilogram each, and do 16 squats while holding the weights.
While Professor Gadling gets the appropriate equipment from the rack, Dream lets his mind wander. Would Professor Gadling be obedient in bed, too? Or would he be a brat? Will Dream have to tame him, or is he already sweet and docile?
Dream imagines that the latter to be more likely, though he wouldn't mind if his lovely professor turns out to be an incorrigible brat in bed. He'll just have to spank him until he's pliant and good enough to deserve his treats.
Fuck. He's teaching. He should be more professional than this.
"Like this, Mr. Endless?"
Dream snaps from his ill-timed daydreams to scrutinize Professor Gadling's form, only to then hold back a lustful groan.
The man is squatting alright, but he's doing so improperly. His heels should be flat against the floor, but instead his thighs and calves are touching, and he's so low that he's almost kneeling on the floor.
Dream has an errant thought that Professor Gadling is being seductive on purpose, except one look at his genuinely unsure expression proves Dream wrong.
Definitely sweet and docile in bed.
Dream wants to eat him alive.
Were this a porno, Dream would tell him that he's doing a terrific job, and if he could please thrust his chest out more so Dream could admire them better. But since he's an actual trainer with the thinnest veneer of professionalism left, he bids Professor Gadling to stand up and instructs him on how to squat properly.
Except, of course, his improved and now very proper form isn't making Dream feel any better, as Professor Gadling now had his ass thrust out instead of his chest, and has to repeat the motion 15 more times.
Dream gets his bottle of vitamin water and drinks deeply, hoping to cool himself down enough to banish his lecherous thoughts.
It doesn't work.
--
Hob sees from the corner of his eye Mr. Endless drink from his water bottle and immediately looks away. He's glad he's already red from exercising.
When Mr. Endless corrected his squat earlier, he did so by placing a hand gently against Hob's lower back to guide him, and Hob barely bit back a moan from how good a simple, innocent touch from him felt, even through his thick hoodie.
He feels like such a shameless pervert.
--
Once the assessment is (finally) over, Dream praises Professor Gadling for a job well done, valiantly ignores the shy, pleased look on the man's face, and instead goes on to tell him that he's doing okay overall, but needs more work in certain areas.
Dream does not specify which ones, telling him that he still needs to study the data and compile them together before emailing the whole thing to him.
In truth, Dream does not trust himself to look straight into Professor Gadling's lovely dark brown eyes and say words like 'stamina' and 'flexibility' without exposing the level of hunger he's currently feeling for him.
So yes. Dream will email him his pre-test results later, but he does not tell him that he will only do so after a good long wank.
Professor Gadling, totally unaware of his inner turmoil, only nods understandably, and agrees to read Dream's email as soon as his schedule allows him to. He must be sweating like crazy underneath his get-up, but his choice of clothes show no evidence of it.
Dream worries, and his mouth opens before he can stop it. "Professor Gadling," he says, just as the man had turned away to go to the nearby drinking fountains.
"Yes, Mr. Endless?"
Dream doesn't want to keep him any longer from the fountains than he has to. But next time, he's going to make sure to bring an extra bottle of vitamin water for him, so he could take a sip anytime without going all the way across the room and falling in line.
Dream is also going to be mature about not staring at his throat while he drinks. "When you go shopping for gym clothes, you may want to consider buying lighter fabrics."
"Oh, no, I'm absolutely fine with these," Professor Gadling says, and sounds sincere about it that Dream drops the subject.
"Very well," he says. He will not force him. Professor Gadling's comfort is paramount. If that means that Dream would have to adjust their lesson plans to include more water breaks, then that's what he'll do. "I shall see you next session."
He turns away before he could be tempted to watch Professor Gadling go. He does not think about the possibility that the hoodie might actually belong to Professor Gadling's boyfriend, who is probably waiting for him to get back home, and very eager to get him back in bed.
He has no right to be jealous.
--
Hob opens his gym bag and starts to take out his clean change of clothes when the texture of the shirt made him pause.
That's not the shirt he folded last night.
He takes the folded black shirt out, wonders at its suddenly lighter weight, then shakes it open to see if he had mistakenly folded another shirt.
As soon as the garment is revealed, however, he shoves it back in his bag, then shakes the accompanying bottom garment open. When that was revealed, he also shoves it back in the bag.
Then, slowly and mindfully, he breathes for a solid minute before he takes out his phone and texts his sister.
--
Mojo Jojo
Jo what the hell
what
(You sent a photo.)
Why are your gym clothes in my bag???
they're not mine stupid
i had ric buy them yesterday specifically for you
?????
for your ~mysterious~ gym crush to notice you (u///u)❤️
anyway don't worry and just wear them
they'll fit you
That's not the point!
A crop top and booty shorts???
you're right. the booty shorts are fine, but the crop top is too plain.
i should have told ric to pick the other one that says 'daddy's little fuck toy' 😂
JOHANNA CONSTANTINE-GADLING
pfft coward
i'm gonna tell ric to go back to the store and buy the fuck toy crop top
oops the director is shouting at me to get in place bye gtg
--
Hob is typing another scathing reply in all caps when he hears footsteps stop a short distance from him.
"Professor Gadling?"
Great. The last person in the world he wanted to see right at this very moment.
Hob smiles awkwardly and stows his phone back in his bag. "Mr. Endless."
"Is everything alright?"
Right. Shit. He hasn't even showered yet. He's probably stinking up the place and being a nuisance near the lockers.
"Everything's fine," Hob says, waving the man's concern away. "Just. Sisters being sisters. With their weird and very inappropriate sense of humor."
Someday, he'll learn how to shut his big mouth and stop at 'everything's fine.'
"I'm sure all sisters suffer from having a weird sense of humor," Mr. Endless says politely. "May I ask what your sister has done?"
Hob sighs deeply and zips his bag closed. It's fine. He'll just go shower at home. And anyway, it's not like he has to take the Tube and subject everyone to his sweaty self after a workout. Thank god he drove here. "Better not. If even I, as her brother, didn't find it funny, I very much doubt that you will."
"And yet you remain troubled," Mr. Endless says, and now his brows are furrowed in concern. "Please. I know this is not any of my business, but I would like to help you, if I can."
The fact that Mr. Endless looks very sincere makes Hob want to cry.
And he knows he shouldn't show him. He knows that Mr. Endless should be the last person in the world Hob should show these to. But he figures, what the hell. He could just quit via email as soon as he gets home and never have cause to see Mr. Endless or be seen in the vicinity of Endless Gym ever again.
Maybe it would even be for the best if he did that. Then he would stop having all these unsavory thoughts about him while the man is only trying to do his job.
He sighs and opens his bag once more, tilting it a little so Mr. Endless could see its contents. "My sister swapped my clean change of clothes for these."
Mr. Endless looks inside, and Hob can just see in his mind's eye what the other man saw: an extremely short, short-sleeved, solid black crop top with a deep V-neck that would barely cover Hob's chest area, and slutty black booty shorts with the phrase, 'SQUEEZE ME' printed on the butt area, complete with a cute yellow lemon emoji.
Although to be fair, 'crop top' is a generous term to use for the upper garment in the bag. It's too small and resembles a short-sleeved bra more than a crop top. From a single glance, Hob knows that even if it did fit him, it would be so tight that it would force his pecs to form a cleavage and leave his underboobs exposed.
He cringed internally at the image that would make, and could only imagine the utter revulsion Mr. Endless is feeling right now.
--
Dream had leaned over to inspect the contents of Professor Gadling's bag, expecting everything from a shark onesie to a clown suit.
Instead he sees further fuel for his already full folder of Professor Gadling-centric fantasies.
He could just imagine the crop top and the booty shorts on the man, and how he'd look like exercising while wearing them.
He had half a mind to ask for his sister's number so he could personally extend his gratitude to her, but doesn't dare to, in case Professor Gadling gets the wrong idea.
He inhales slowly and leans away, placing his hands neatly behind his back so Professor Gadling would not be in danger of being pushed against the lockers and fucked within an inch of his life. Dream did not fail to notice the distinct lack of underwear among the clean change of clothes, and now his mind is working overtime imagining himself standing behind Professor Gadling as he runs on the treadmill, the tiny shorts and the lack of proper underwear leaving nothing to the imagination. Imagines pressing himself against the professor's sweaty back after, the man still panting and out of breath, and pulling down his cute little shorts to jerk him off as a reward for a job well done.
"I see your dilemma," Dream says calmly, like this is an incident that happens every so often and not a cause for alarm or humiliation. "Fortunately, we have a stock of clean clothes in the staff locker room, in case staff members need to change for some reason or another. If you could please stay here for a while, I'm going to get you a clean change of clothes with more coverage."
Yes. It is imperative that he provides Professor Gadling with more conservative clothing than the ones currently in his bag. Otherwise, other people would see and covet what Dream has already envisioned as his. And that will definitely not do.
"Oh," Professor Gadling says, looking incredibly moved by his words. He's probably thinking how kind Dream is, while Dream is still thinking about how easy it would be to fuck his thighs after jerking him off, using the man's own cum as lube. How he would then make an even bigger mess of him and not clean him up after. That way, everyone would know that Professor Gadling is Dream's and Dream's only. "Are you sure? I don't want to trouble you unnecessarily."
"It's no problem at all," Dream says. In his mind, he imagines the man's thighs covered in both their cum, and Professor Gadling scooping some of it up and sucking on his fingers, curious as to what their mixed spend would taste like. "I have also been at the receiving end of a couple of my siblings' pranks, and would not wish another to suffer similarly." When Professor Gadling opened his mouth, possibly to protest, Dream holds up a hand and adds, "Please. I insist."
"Oh. Well then...thank you, Mr. Endless," Professor Gadling says, his dark brown eyes sparkling like precious gems in his gratefulness. Dream wants to kiss him all over. "You're a lifesaver."
--
Dream speedwalks to the staff locker room, checks to see if the coast is clear, immediately locks himself in a stall, drops his joggers and underwear, and starts jerking himself off furiously.
He barely even had to spit on his palm for lubrication, and he knows it wouldn't take long. He's already so aroused.
He has to do this.
If he doesn't, then Professor Gadling would be in an even greater danger when Dream hands him his clean (and much more conservative) change of clothes, and gets to be on the receiving end of his shy gratitude.
He imagines Professor Gadling, usually so buttoned up, only wearing that infernal crop top and booty shorts in Dream's favorite color, with those taunting fucking words--
"There's a good boy," his imagined self says to a kneeling Professor Gadling, who is pressing his tits closer together to create a valley where Dream could rut his cock against.
"I could...squeeze them even tighter, if you want?" his imagined Professor Gadling says, maintaining his naive, unsure aura about him even as his lips are slick and red from sucking on Dream's cock. "I want you to feel good, Mr. Endless."
Dream cums at the thought of marking Professor Gadling's face and hairy tits with his seed, and him shyly licking his lips for a taste of Dream's cum, moaning in delight when he finds Dream's spend to be thick and delicious. Dream is going to eat more pineapples, just for him. He's going to make Professor Gadling addicted to the taste of his cum that no other cum would do.
"Thank you for lending me your clothes, Mr. Endless," he would say, because he's polite like that. He would lean forward to milk Dream's cock more, making sure to get every last drop, before making a show of swallowing everything down, save for the cum marking him as Dream's. "And for the really tasty post-workout treat."
--
Mr. Endless looks a little flushed when he returns. However, judging by how far the staff locker room is from the gym goer's lockers that was out in the open (possibly to prevent theft and sexual harassment), as well as any additional effort he may have made in finding clean clothes that are in Hob's size, Hob thinks he got back pretty quickly.
The sight of him slightly flushed makes Hob think naughty thoughts though, which he quickly dispels from his mind. He doesn't have the right to think about Mr. Endless like that, especially after the man went through all this trouble just so Hob would feel comfortable going home.
Still. He wonders what would have happened if he had both the courage and the confidence to wear the clothes Jo bought for him.
Would Mr. Endless...
He viciously cuts the thought off before it could fully form. No. Absolutely not.
Mr. Endless would have felt nauseous at seeing his rolls and body hair and just...general unattractiveness. Hob wouldn't need to email him about quitting because the man himself would drop him as soon as he could, like a hot (temperature-wise) and very unappealing potato.
--
"Here," Dream says as he hands Professor Gadling a set of clean clothes. In the bundle is a black shirt, a black letterman jacket with the number 03 on it, and black joggers. All of them belong to Dream, and everyone, especially his siblings and the rest of the staff, is going to know that these are his clothes as soon as they see the number 03. "You will have to go commando, but it's definitely preferable to what your sister intended for you to wear."
Professor Gadling looks so grateful and Dream wants to mark him up, this time with his own teeth. Let everyone see Professor Gadling wearing his clothes and his teeth marks, even his boyfriend who lent him this hoodie, whoever he is. "Thank you so much," he says. "And yes. Lord knows I shouldn't subject anyone to the sight of me in that. I'll drive all the gym goers away and then Endless Gym would have to close."
Dream really, absolutely hates how Professor Gadling thinks of himself as unattractive. Is it because his boyfriend tells him that? Is that why Professor Gadling signed up for training in the first place?
Well, whoever he is, he better be prepared because Dream is ready and raring to beat him into a pulp the moment Professor Gadling even implies that his lack of self-esteem is caused by his boyfriend spouting lies about his beautiful body.
Were Dream allowed to freely speak his mind, he would say that if Professor Gadling did don the clothes his sister intended for him to wear, he would no doubt cause multiple accidents due to gym goers losing their concentration: dropping weights on their feet and tripping on the treadmills, not to mention the injuries he would cause in the future, when Dream would casually arrange little minor accidents to those he caught drooling at his lovely future boyfriend.
But because he is still Professor Gadling's trainer and therefore need to have some semblance of control and professionalism, what he says instead is, "I don't think such a thing will happen. And please, feel free to keep those clothes if you wish."
"Oh!" Professor Gadling exclaims. "I absolutely shouldn't. I'll wash them after and return them to you on our next session."
Dream smiles. He's very stubborn, too. "If you do that, I will simply put them in your locker so you will have an extra set of clothes if your sister decides to swap your clean set again."
--
Hob blushes as soon as Mr. Endless hands him the bundle of clothing, and feels even more flustered when, after showering, he holds them in his arms and smells a hint of Mr. Endless's own scent on them.
He really is so kind and generous and considerate and Hob is so very quickly falling in love with him.
--
Hob is walking past the gym's cafe after getting dressed when he sees Mr. Endless ordering what looks like a pineapple smoothie. He walks over and nods politely to both the staff member behind the counter and Mr. Endless when both men turn to look at him.
The male staff member quickly walks towards the blender to fulfill Mr. Endless's order, however, and so the two of them are left alone to converse freely.
"Thank you for lending me your clothes, Mr. Endless," Hob tells him, all-smiles. The clothes fit him perfectly, and the fabric feels good on his skin.
There is an undecipherable look in Mr. Endless's eyes. Hob hopes he's not mad. He looks really intense. "I see they fit you well."
Hob laughs. "I was surprised, too! Thank you very much for finding ones that are in my size. This jacket is especially lovely." He rubs his hand over the fabric of the jacket's sleeve, which really does have a nice texture to it.
"I'm glad you like it," Mr. Endless says. "And I hope that this means you are considering keeping it?"
Hob ducks his head to hide his embarrassing lovesick smile. He'd love to, actually. He'll take it off as soon as he gets home and press his face against it, hoping to smell what little remains of Mr. Endless's scent, and how their scents mix together. "Maybe."
"Then it is yours," Mr. Endless says. It might be Hob's delusional imagination, but Mr. Endless looks fond as he looks at him. His heart is beating so fast. If he doesn't leave soon, he may just do the unthinkable and kiss Mr. Endless in front of the poor staff member behind the bar, as well as a couple of random gym goers peacefully eating their salads in the background.
--
"Oh," Professor Gadling says softly. "Really? You mean that?"
Dream wasn't wrong in his assumption. The man does look good wearing his clothes. And for him to go out of his way just to show Dream how well they fit before he leaves...
Dream wants to tear his own clothes off him and just give him another set after.
"I do, Professor Gadling," he says. "I only say what I mean, and I would love for you to keep them. At home or in your locker, as long as your sister doesn't hide them from you and replace your clean change of clothes again."
"I will care for them well," Professor Gadling vows sincerely. Dream has no doubt that he will. But this is only the first of many clothes that Dream is planning on giving him. In fact, Dream could already envision his own closet at home, interspersed with Professor Gadling's clothes, and the man himself wearing Dream's clothes to bed. Dream is going to let him steal all his hoodies after they burn his ex's hoodies. He's going to spoil him rotten with pretty lingerie so he'll never have to go commando ever again. "Shall I see you in a couple of days for our next session?"
Dream could think of no one else belonging in his life as a romantic partner other than Professor Gadling. He smiles and barely prevents himself from leaning forward and giving the man's delicious-looking lips a chaste peck before he has to leave. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
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depressedtheatrekiddo · 4 months
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Steddie kinda famous AU(?) | Genderfluid Stevie <3 | Eddie is a rat man and I laugh at him (I would probably be like that if I was Steve Harrington husband but that's not about me) | Live laugh love Stevie | Pushing the history teacher Steve agenda because he's a variant of Hob Gadling >:D
[I'm sorry if it has errors it's been a while since I had written something in English (it's not my first language) so whatever mistake I have feel free to tell me and I'll edit <3]
. ° — ° — 🌟 — ° — ° .
Corroded Coffin seemed to be popular, things were getting better for them, they still had to do part time job because of that 'what if?' but things were going well. Definitely.
In an interview they asked about a song, the meaning. And the shit man Eddie Munson is, he answered with a grin on his face "That's about Stevie, as most of them".
And the fans went crazy, trying to find someone with that name in the Corroded Coffin set or working at some usual bar they played at.
"They is a history teacher" Eddie Munson told the world in another interview "and we are married" he showed the camera a ring he had next to his guitar pick on his neck, he had the biggest smirk on his face.
Then Corroded Coffin were guests of a fundraising gala, they were asked to play at it to attract more people. It was a fancy gala tho, everyone was in their bests dresses and all.
"This one's for my beautiful angel there, who looks as gorgeous as always" And Eddie winked at a special balcony of the vip guests.
Most of the public saw Eddie laughing softly, but they didn't know why. In that balcony a lovely brunette in a marion blue dress gave the guitarist and second voice of Corroded Coffin the middle finger as he had a stupid lovely gaze on their face while she blushed a little.
"Yeah love ya too sweetie" Eddie chuckled before starting with the show.
Later at the gala people saw Eddie Munson next to the tall brunette in that marion dress.
"So are you Eddie's girlfriend?" An interviewer asked, he looked at Stevie with those eyes Eddie didn't like.
But Eddie laughed as he waited for Steve's answer, that was going to be good as hell, they had the bitchy face on.
"Not a girl" Steve smirked "And definitely not his girlfriend, nor boyfriend, nor partner" She looked down at the man, who seemed so little compared to them "He's my husband"
"I am" Eddie smiled so stupidly in love as he looked up at Stevie, who usually wasn't that tall but with the black heels they was wearing today the difference was more than usual.
"Uh— Yeah" The interviewer looked at different places to get outta there
"You got any problem with that sir?"
"N-no it's perfectly fine ma'am— I mean sir— I mean—"
Steve snorted "Come on darling, let's go somewhere else without this kind of people"
And where Stevie went Eddie followed
The amount of edits with the song 'walk him like a dog' after that gala were more than years the Earth has.
"Teddy, look, another one" Steve chuckled as she showed Eddie his phone.
"Stop with that, you menace" Eddie laid down on the couch, next to his significant other, trying to take their phone away playfully.
"Erica is going to bully you so bad" Stevie giggled.
"And Red too" Eddie sighed "Jesus Christ, Stevie I am like that always?"
"It's cute"
"I hate you" Eddie muttered as Steve put on the baseball match of today.
"Love you too sunshine" She smiled softly as they started playing with Eddie's hair.
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softest-punk · 2 years
Text
Hob and Dream's storyline maps perfectly to a romance arc though. Allow me to demonstrate (borrowing from Gwen Hayes who wrote what I consider to be the holy scripture of romance novelists, Romancing the Beat):
1389: the Meet Cute. This is obvious. Hob is there, mouthing off about how he's Never Going To Die and Dream is instantly interested. He's so interested Hob actually gets immortality out of the bargain. Hob, too, is clearly interested. There's an initial spark. You can see there's SomethingTM going on here. This scene also contains the first No Way, the first reason It'll Never Work: Dream tells himself that Hob will not actually want to live forever, and Dream we know IS immortal so obviously they could never *really* be together.
1489: the Adhesion. The part where it becomes clear that they're going to have to jump onto the plot and start rowing. Dream fully expects Hob to be like "okay done with life now" but no, he finds Hob thrilled by chimneys and playing cards and he's going to have to come back in another hundred years because Hob refuses to be tired of life.
1589: the second No Way. It'll NEVER WORK because Dream is disgusted by Hob's (in his opinion) shallow version of success and maybe a little mad that he got married?? to someone else???? rude. He's going to fuck Shakespeare about it. There could never be anything between them because Hob is just like the rest of them, there's nothing special about him, he's greedy and shallow and much less interesting than the adorable twink across the room.
1689: the This Could Work. Hob is miserable. He's been miserable for 80 years. Dream sees him at his absolute lowest and yet?? and yet he doesn't want to die??? Maybe Dream can keep him. Maybe Dreams can have a little Hob, as a treat.
1789: Deepening desire. Do I need to justify this one. The way Dream looks at Hob, the way Hob looks at Dream, the way Hob straight up propositions him and Dream does his best impression of a fucking brick because he was into it! He watched Hob absolutely wreck two thugs twice his size in heels without hesitation or breaking a sweat and he was turned the fuck on. They're SO CLOSE to acting on it. Hob is Peak Hot here too btw.
1889: Maybe This Will Work. Dream is so pleased when he sees Hob this time. Hob is different. Hob has ChangedTM, the narrative arc has forced him to grow, he's a suitable partner for an unending metaphysical concept who looks great in eyeliner. Hob looks slightly less hot in the fashion of the day but it doesn't matter because Dream loves him, the first No Way has been addressed. Unfortunately Hob then says "you love me :D" and Dream freaks the entire fuck out because he's Not Ready. The arc isn't complete yet. He has not had to do the Dark Night of the Soul so he's not ready for whole-hearted love. The Inkling of Doubt, Deepening Doubt, Retreat, Shields Up, and Break Up happen like snorting a line of coke and Dream storms off into the rain being Dramatique, Hob is on the verge of tears.
1916-1989: the Dark Night of the Soul. Dream is literally in a little Christmas ornament sulking. Hob shows up in 1989 and waits and drinks and is v. emo about being stood up (which he literally says) and then worse! more drama! the pub's been sold. They can never get back together because it won't be there in another hundred years. everything is AWFUL.
2022: Death takes her sulking little brother on a whirlwind adventure during which he remembers that he does quite like people. And then she, as is traditional at this point in the narrative, is like "remember that one human you're in love with? he's still around. Maybe apologise? you'll feel better." So anyway Dream does. The Grand Gesture here is as grand as they get: Hob has a) spray painted a sign for his clueless eldritch horror of a boyfriend and b) been waiting in the same pub for thirty years apparently, which as shows of devotion go is fairly huge, Hob is STILL THERE which addresses the first No Way. Dream though. Dream swallows his pride, which is 80% of his weight by volume (the other 20% is eyeliner), walks straight up to Hob, and calls him a friend without any prompting. Hob looks at him like Dream just handed him the universe. We see them back to normal, talking as friends, whole-heartedly in love.
TL;DR: Dream and Hob are in a romance novel
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spid3rpunksimp · 8 months
Text
Hobie brown x Spider! gn! reader
Since y'all liked the first one so much, here's the second.
Masterlist
Please don't leave me.
part 1
A/N:This one's prob gonna be fluffy cause I couldn't handle it if it wasn't, I probably would cry
Warnings:Blood, Angst, fluff, A LOT of crying, pain, idk what else
Everything was silent.
Almost peacful.
Almost
Everything was black. Nothing was around me. Everything was so quiet, but I couldn't see anyone. I wanted to cry but I couldn't. I wanted Hobie but I couldn't find him. I felt...nothing.
How could I have left him like that how could I ha-
You were brought back to reality with the feeling of your face, it was a slight stinging. You saw a simple light that you knew was Hobie. He was the only destination you wanted right now.
You ran towards it but it felt like quicksand, every time you took a step you fell deeper and deeper in. You felt tired again, you felt cold. You wanted to lay down.
"Y/N please...please."
Suddenly your eyes began to open as you looked at Hobie, holding you in his arms as the rest of the crew swung down. As soon as Gwen and Paveir saw you they put their hands over their mouths. Jess got a little closer to you before doing the same. You looked horrible. You had scratches all over your face. Pain washed over you again as you felt tears running down your face again. "Y/N stay with me okay, we're gonna get you to the hospital, everything' is gonna be ok-"
You cut Hobie off by placing your hand on his check, his mask still over his face. You placed your hand over the bottom side of his face and pulled the mask up, your mask was torn in every was imaginable, your face on full display, showing all your tears. As you pulled the mask off of Hobie's face you saw the broken look over his face as he examined your body. The body he would hold every night as you two would fall asleep together only for you to be back in your universe the next morning before he even woke up. The body he would make love with. The body he would kiss. It was dying right in front of him. The love of his life...was dying right in front of him.
"H-hobart.." you said in a wispier, your voice horse as Miguel attempted to figure out a way to get you out of here without causing more harm to your spine. You placed a hand on the side of Hobie's face, his warm tears hitting your hand, continuing to run out of his eyes as he felt your usually warm hands become colder and colder by the minute.
"Hobs...promise me something." you began before Hobie's eyes widened, denial hitting him like an asteroid. "NO, no no no your gonna be alright, love. Your gonna make it out of this and we're gonna go home and we're gonna go right back to loving each other like always, your gonna be al-"
You placed your bloody finger over his lips as you flung one arm over your stomach, looking down at the sting you saw the blood, everywhere. You looked back to Hobie and removed your finger from his lips, leaving blood on his lips as you began to speak again. "Promise me...promise you'll find another person. Promise me you'll live your amazing life and play your guitar and every time you d-drink tea, promise me you'll think of me."
"NO! Love, you're gonna be alright. You're gonna make it out of this, okay." Hobie said, tears pouring out of his eyes as he watched two lines go down your bloody face, tears pouring out of either side. "Love, we both know that's not true." you said as you gave Hobie a smile. Everyone was watching Hobie breaking, Miguel frantically trying to get more spider people over there, his watch glitching like crazy. Hobie cried as he leaned over you, holding you tighter and tighter. "Please don't go..." Hobie said, broken sobs coming out of his voice as he said it. You looked over to see Gwen and Jess crying, Paveir holding on by a thread. "I l-love you, Hobie brown." you said as you fell into the sleepiness that was holding you captive, the last words coming out in a shudder.
Everything was quite again
You felt guilty
You wanted to cry but you couldn't
It hurt so bad
You wanted Hobie but you couldn't
It hurt
. . .
So bad
. . .
. . .
You heard the sound of beeps.
Beep, beep, beep
You felt something warm holding your hard
He was crying.
He was in pain
You felt as your eyes fluttered open, the bright light blinding you for a moment as you adjusted to the light. The world around you getting more and more noticeable. Looking to the side, you felt a jerk as Hobie's brow, tear filled eyes looked up to you.
You put your hands over your mouth as you looked at Hobie, without skipping a beat he was soon hugging you tightly, not caring what stitches he would reopen. And you didn't care either. He was right, you were gonna make it out of this. "I thought I-" your raspy voice was cut off by a broken sob.
"Shhhh, don't talk, love." Hobie said as he placed a hand on the side of your head, pecking your lips once more.
"The doctors said your gonna make it, you've been out for a week, they say you should be mostly healed cause your body was healing while you were sleeping, that's why you were out for so long. Oh fuck I'm so god damn happy your alive!" he said as he kissed you once more.
You began to pull him into the bed, him not caring at all about what you were wanting, he would do it if it meant being close with you. "Sleep with me." you said looking at him through happy tear filled eyes as each of you laid down, holding one another tightly.
As you fell into dreamland next to each other, Jessica came by to see if Hobie was doing alright, only to see the two of you smiling, sleeping next to one another once again. Snapping a picture of the two of you, she sent it to Miguel say in it 'She's awake, and alive. You have to admit messing with this canon event was worth it.'
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I LOVE THE ENDING SO MUCH!
If you guys weren't satisfied with the ending tell me and I'll think about writing an alternative ending.
Part 3 for after you're healed?
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gabessquishytum · 3 months
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I’ve got another one!
alright this is me totally projecting here (hearing loss anon what what)
alright so….
human AU Dream does not make conversation, he doesn’t speak to people in crowded or noisy areas, it is very hard for him to keep a conversation if he’s forced to have one, he can’t socialise very well, and occasionally it’s hard for people to understand his speech.
Dream’s hard of hearing. He’s given up on having conversations with people because it’s so hard to hear them. His family won’t help him cause they just think he’s quiet he’s very disconnected from people. He’s never been treated and it’s only gotten progressively worse, it’s also why he got into art and not musical instruments like his other siblings. one day in the art room he hears something. it’s very far away “hi… hello?” It’s probably half way across the room.
“I’m Hob mind if I sit?”
there’s movement in his peripheral. he looks up. a man is smiling down at him. Assumedly the same man who asked him to sit down. he merely nods, no need to make conversation. “I'm new here is this sculpting?”
Shit a question, with missing information ok context clues, he’s never seen him before, probably new and wants to know what class this is. “You are in sculpture,”
“Thanks mate”
this Hob starts starts messing with a mound of clay talking the whole time Dream couldn’t understand him it didn’t matter.
“how’s your day?”
“satisfactory”
“I’m sorry, I asked what your name was?”
Dream blushed, he had fucked up again
“it’s uh Dream,”
“pretty”
dream nodded.
“you don’t talk much do you?”
shit shit shit Damnit fuck shit, Dreams gotta lip read. He looks up at Hob locking eyes with his lips.
dream stares at hob’s lips for a normal amount of time and nods when he thinks is appropriate and hopes Hob doesn’t ask a question it’s all going so well till….
“oh, you can’t hear me,” Hob says in the middle of his sentence so he scoots a little closer and raises his voice a little louder and enunciates more clearly, but not in a patronizing way just so Dream could understand.
“I’m afraid I cannot, how could you tell?” Dream asked.
hob chuckles, “you’re leaning towards me with one ear pointing at me which I’m assuming is your better ear and you’ve been squinting at my lips for the past ten minutes,”
Dream blushes.
“my sister’s deaf I pick up on things,”
so dream and hob keep talking, well hob does most of the talking but dream doesn’t mind, until hob stops.
“I’ll give you a break, you probably got listening fatigue,”
and he was right Dream was beginning to feel the affects of listening fatigue until Hob did something with his hand.
“what was that?”
“sign language, you don’t know sign?”
“no, I make do with what I have,”
“can I teach you?”
Dream of course leans in for a kiss.
“teach dream! Teach!”
they both laugh it off, he does however get that kiss later.
soon dream is proficient in sign language and is good friends with Hob’s sister. He seems happier and more outgoing. and in a couple years down the road…
dream and hob will sign their wedding vows.
-🦎
AHHHHHH HoH Dream!!!!! This is just so wonderful and beautiful and I love it. Obviously hate the idea of Dream not having any means to communicate because no one has helped him learn to sign, but Hob!!!!! Hob’s gonna teach him!!!!!!! AND kiss him.
Not being d/Deaf myself, I won't add too much onto this except to say that I love it, and I know I'm going to be thinking about it for a long time. Especially them signing their wedding vows. Yes!!!! Please!!!!!
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achillesuwu · 1 year
Text
Hope!Hob AU but Dream is still well Dream Of the Endless.
However, Hob think that Dream is a random weird immortal human (he doesn't know his name !?! Like did that guy lived without him for years !?! How does a human even survive without Hope ?!?). He thinks that his stranger is neglected by every endless (living without Death Gift, a life without sleep and dream, even Delirium doesn't seem to give him the grace of going crazy,… even Hope negleted him without knowing it) meanwhile Dream know who Hob is and he says to him " You want to make me happy and hopeful ? lol yeah. Well I will make you bring me doom"
Just Hob & Dream being like : I'm going to prove you wrong >:)
and of course it ends with
Dream : FUCK, YOU MAKE ME HAPPY
Hob : FUCK FUCK FUCK I FELL IN LOVE WITH A HUMAN. I WILL BRING HIM DOOM
*cut scene to D Endless (aka the children of Time and Night) and H Endess (aka the children of Light and Gravity) meetings that Hob avoided for… well forever exept this time because Death managed to drag him there*
Hob : You aren't human.
Dream : nope.
Hob :
Hob *reflect on what Dream told him the first time* : … YOU KNEW, YOU KNEW THAT I DIDN'T KNOW, YOU ASSHOLE.
794 notes · View notes